flying tampons

Trailhead. Trailhead. As I walked up the hill, the hills of the city, it felt as if I was walking up a trail. My calves are burning, my ass is tightening, it doesn’t matter, how many hills I walk up- it’s always the same. Always the same. It’s hard work every time. Every time it is hard work. But once you get up to the top, and while you are thankful for the workout without the confines of the gym, you get to the top and the burn- the inability to talk while walking all worth it. I walk everyday in my own trails in my own urban jungle I call home.

Sometimes I get too daring. Too bold. And think I can carry tons of groceries including a variety of beer up hill. Up hill. In one bag. I forget how easy it is to walk down the hill empty handed but to return to the incline with a bag in hand, a busting bag with the hairy eyeball beer and bock, and avocados, and peers, and humus, and crackers, and kombucha. It’s heavy. But my own guilt of the bay area forced me into the one bag. The one bag. Until. Until I am walking up the hill realizing this idea once profound is now not so much. I am walking up the incline and clenching the brown bag, switching back and forth between sides. My biceps ache- yoga helps but not enough. I am walking through the crosswalk on a sleepy street in Noe Valley when my favorite chapstick, my favorite flies out of my blue vintage purse like it has wings onto the pavement. I am not sure how I can pick it up while balancing the bag. How to do it? So I see two men right in front of me, greeting each other, they are friends, they seem friendly. So I ask do you mind picking up that chapstick, no problem. It’s now in my hand. I thought this was a good idea until I started walking up the hill. Walking up the hill.

I walk a few steps onto the next incline when not one but two tampons fly out of my purse. This fucking, so cute, so vintage, so not useful purse, I need some zippers. So the two men gentlemen are about to pick up the tampons and I can’t let them for some reason. Don’t pick those up. I say. They are tampons. I can’t believe I’m even saying this aloud. Why am I talking? I should have left them and kept going. Wow they seem so small I didn’t know they came that small. Oh they are OBs. Oh shit. Shut up Kate, shut up. Do you want us to help you? We don’t mind helping you with your bag. I am bending over picking up the tampons I couldn’t leave behind. No, I am okay. Still talking out loud, I am pretty much too embarrassed and bright red so I am going to keep walking. Walking up the hill. Up the hill. Home.