whittling tampons

I'm not sure how to feel about this gnawed-up tampon applicator I found in my living room closet.


Three chewed holes transform this ordinary
applicator into a rodent-friendly flute.

The worst part of any vacation is come unpacking all your used, dirty, disorganized crap. I spent the weekend washing off clumps of caked on playa mud from my all of my belongings that traveled to Burning Man. I was rearranging my camping gear, christmas tree and various bags of costumes in storage, when I happened upon the above item.

Two years ago, my Halloween costume (Aunt Flo) required me to launch 100 tampons from their applicators and affix them to gown. For a long time, I saved the cardboard applicators thinking I could use them for an art project, sliding fortune-telling devices perhaps. Finally, my girlfriend convinced me to throw them out, because every time we went under the bathroom sink, dozens of applicators would roll out in a tiny tampon tidal wave, and she feared that a guest might stumble upon them and think we were the most vile women on the planet. I acquiesced, and tossed the boxes of applicators into the garbage. I can only assume that somehow, one of them rolled from the bathroom to the front closet in the living room, where it was found by a tiny rodent who felt that he had hit the plaything jackpot. The alternative explanation is too disturbing and surreal for me to spend more than a nanosecond pondering, so I will just end it there.

Whenever you think your life has no meaning or joy, just remember it could be worse. You could live in an existence where nibbling on a tampon applicator in a cold, dark closet is pure ecstasy.