Nevermind how I found myself at the French website for Tampax. What’s more crazy is what I found there: a marketing campaign recruiting Tampax tampon users to vie for a spot as president of the “Max Le Tampax” Fan Club. Why anyone in their right mind would want to be the president of a club dedicated to the art of menstruation is beyond me. Worse, I can’t imagine the ad agency reps behind this campaign were in any state of mental stability when they created this Max character—a young, overly dramatic dude (dare I even say teenager?) dressed in a giant yellow tampon costume …
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For all women, there are universal female experiences that rank inevitably high on the embarrassment scale. Try, for example:
- “Price check. Can I get a price check on a box of Ultra Heavy Flow Tampax tampons?”
- “Uh, babe, did you just queef?”
- “I can see your days of the week underwear through that skirt, and just so you know, it’s not Thursday.”
Try having a female problem in a foreign country and you’ll multiply any of your shame times 10 … Keep reading »
My friend Megan from the States is in town for a few days, and yesterday we spent a lazy Sunday walking up and down the Seine, making fun of French joggers in ridiculous running gear and checking out the guys who passed us by.
“Wow, Paris definitely has some attractive men,” she noted as a particularly dashing gentleman in a perfectly tailored suit passed by us.
“Indeed, it does,” I agreed. We walked on a bit more, taking in the sights.
“Oh man,” she said. “Like that guy that we just passed, did you see him? So. Hot.”
“What? Where? No.”
“How could you not see him? He was looking straight at us.”
“Leo, I think you have a bit of a perception problem. You really don’t seem to catch on when guys are checking you out.”
“I do too! I just don’t try to make anything too obvious, you know?” Keep reading »
“Hi honeeeyyy! So have you talked to your sister about July?”
“Mom, what? What’s happening in July?”
“You’re coming home. You and your sister are going to come up to Maine.”
“Uh, we are?”
I shouldn’t have been surprised when talking on the phone with my mother last week because stuff like this is typical mom-behavior. You know, telling you what to do, or making plans and then “informing” you of them, rather than scheduling them. Ever since I knew I might stay in Paris for a few extra months, I also knew I’d probably want to make a trip home at some point, but hadn’t gotten that far yet. With my mom on my back about July—not a month I would have picked for travel to the U.S.—it’s started to remind me of this weird relationship space I’m entering with my parents, one that I don’t know how to negotiate yet. Keep reading »