Being a Girl is Not a Shame

I have decided to discuss a topic that no one ever wants to talk about. Periods. Let us not shy away from it because it happens.

To the men reading this, periods are not a walk in the park. See, periods are expensive. Ladies you know the deal walking into CVS and having to drop fifteen bucks on the good stuff, you know Always or Poise. Periods are painful. Yeah, 7 days, 168 hours, and 604800 seconds of excruciating pain. (no exaggeration) Periods are uncomfortable. Vomiting, nausea, and back aches all come in the period package.

Where am I going with this? See, what I like about America is that pads and tampons are easily accessible and most pharmacies carry them for a somewhat decent price. Medications are also readily available to ease the pain during menstruation. As a woman making minimum wage, I can afford these feminine products. But imagine living in an environment where you make less than a dollar a month and you have to decide between tampons or dinner.

Costco, a modern love story

About two years ago, I stumbled upon a hysterical yet shocking article about a high schooler who was accepted to five Ivy League schools with… get this… a prompt about Costco. Five! Including Stanford, whose acceptance rate is lower than any Ivy League school. I am sure her GPA, SAT’s and all the other scores needed for university were outstanding in every way possible, but Costco? I began to rethink my life choices… maybe I shouldn’t have written about my gradual awareness of the obvious racial tensions in this country, and I would’ve been a stellar alumni from Brown University. Regardless, all envy aside, her prompt was impressive and without a doubt, creative.

For as long as I can remember, Costco and I haven’t been the best of friends. Its monstrously vast concrete inside is anything but welcoming. I always attempt to avoid entering or even stepping nearby, for fear of being kept in by its cold tentacles of products I convince myself to need, in large quantities. So I simply avoid it; except for one Monday night, the first Monday night after our most memorable of elections. I dreadfully walked in with my dad with the sole purpose of purchasing a large pizza (sidenote: they have the best pizza). As we waited, I saw a side to Costco I had never seen before. Whether it was because I have been blinded by my dislike or simply put, my world pre-election seemed to be heading into a new wave of progressiveness, the beauty was breathtaking.