Douche-bags are hygienic products, I take that as a compliment. Thank you.

Our second question comes to us from Adrienne. She asks:

Why are maxi pads so long?

Oh Jesus.

Bucko: Never afraid of public embarrassment, I admit to you all that until I was about 18 years old, I never used anything BUT maxi pads. My mother was of the convention that sticking anything "up there" was not only unnecessary but gross. Having spent the majority of my childhood in and out of Catholic schools, I can only assume that her greater interest was in maintaining my physical "virginity"...so I imagined Jesus' head atop a tampon and decided to keep my distance. Don't think for a second, though, that I wasn't curious about tampons! I used to babysit and rifle through the bathrooms of the mothers I worked for, specifically in one household (where I knew the goods were stashed). I would read the shocking and horrifying how-to (put your leg where and bend how?!) and TSS guide, take a tampon home, deconstruct it and re-committ myself to Vaginal Virginity. The convenience remained appealing, however, and I grew increasingly tired of my diapered existence. I didn't stick a tampon "up there" until I was able to afford my own...so, right around 18.

But your question, more specifically, is why are maxi pads so freakin' long? And here's myanswer: BETTER LONG THAN SHORT! To be honest, I'm certain that there is an industry standard out there, some computer-generated measurement of the distance between the mons and the anus, telling feminine hygiene product companies how long most lady vag happens to be. And I'm sure that most companies add an inch or so onto that length for good measure, or to take into account the random possibility of bending, bunching, or overflow. But like most things lady-related, I don't doubt for a second that this "industry standard" was taken from data recorded in a really isolated environment...say, the distance between the mons and anus of women who also happen to be 6' tall supermodels (you know they'd volunteer!). I imagine they have bits longer than the average woman. And now we're all made to suffer because of their foot long vaginas.

There probably wasn't anything more embarrassing in high school than sequestering myself in a bathroom stall and trying to open the wrapper to a maxi pad WITHOUT MAKING NOISE. I failed regularly, and regardless of the current vag situation of the girl in the next stall, someone always giggled. To add insult onto injury by giving pubescent girls the option of tampons or pads, as they are most readily available, really screws with one's psyche...in my experience, the perpetual tug of war between "virginity" and supreme discomfort. I remember loathing the days I'd wake up bloated and uncomfortable, and then attempt to dress myself in the loosest pair of pants possible to avoid pad visibility, yet having to select something that might also compress a little, as I ran the risk of launching the pad out of either end of my underpants (I suppose I could've invested in some maxi pad suspenders, though). Then there was the bunching and the squeaking and then crinkling...GOD, the horror.

My conclusion is this: the entire beauty industry is hell bent on making us feel bad about ourselves, so it comes as no surprise that they would give us yachts when we need canoes. And it comes as no surprise that even Puritanical girls, like the me I once was, outgrow this ridiculous expectation and wind up sticking something (tampon, DivaCup, Instead, etc) "up there" to avoid feeling like we're sitting sideways on an upholstered swingset.

God bless your bits.

Bucko: Well, look. Ask a TMI question, get a TMI answer. While Bucko up there is probably right about how these upholstered swing seats came into being, I have to tell you that for a couple of days every couple of months, I really appreciate them. Because while most of the time, my period is well-behaved and respects my DivaCup (as it should, because the DivaCup is made of goodness and awesome), during maybe four out of every sixty days, my vagina gets up to shenanigans I hesitate to try to describe. I'm talking not just overflowing of the mighty Cup, but overflowing that happens every hour. And not just a little trickle, the likes of which might be contained by a panty liner or some such; I mean full on, levee-breaking, pants-ruining, blood-on-my-ankles GUSHING. No mere pad can withstand this. What I really need is to roll up a sleeping bag made of gauze and cotton, strap myself on to that sumbitch, and get settled in front of my TV for a few days, but alas, The Man really doesn't take "if I stand up, I'm going to ruin my socks" as an excuse for taking half the week off. And so I resort to the Pads Of Unusual Size. Being that I'm a short girl (though not a particularly dainty one), the distance from front to back really isn't that long, and you'd think that something the size of Shaq's shoe would be kind of wasteful; however, it's not a matter of size in this case so much as a matter of velocity. The flow comes out at such speed that it might land anywhere. Short of just wrapping the whole Area up in Depends (or putting my brilliant gauze-sleeping-bag plan into action), this is the best I can do.