Sweet Southern Pearls.

One of the first things I learned when I moved to California is that a little Southern hospitality goes a long way...especially out here...because people don't expect it. When I get asked what the biggest difference is between Northern Caolifornia and North Carolina, I always tell them that while I love the palm trees out here the people aren't as friendly as where I'm from. I was taught to say yes ma'am and no sir, I went to Cotillion which is kind of like finishing school (for those of you who have never heard of it), I had a shirt that said GRITS: Girls Raised in the South and I learned to shag to "Carolina Girls" by General Johnson and the Chairmen of the Board.

People in my office eat it up when I throw out a "y'all" or a "bless your heart" or a "what in tarnation" and they go ape shit it when I say, "I reckon." As much as I joke about being a sharp-tongued super-bitch who stomps around spewing insults and cutting people down with my razor sharp rhetoric...it's all a facade...an alter ego...it's Reagan...because in reality, Megan is a polite, shy, sweet and well-mannered young woman. (So, that's a little bit of a stretch but I'm trying to make a point here). And don't pretend like you don't know what I'm talking about...we're all multi-dimensional. I just happen to go by a different name at work so I can get away with calling myself Reagan and not have to worry about my family institutionalizing me for it.

Anyways, the point of all of this is that I'm friendly. I talk to everyone at work...everyone from the receptionist to the big, big, big boss. Well last week we got a memo that this Thursday (tomorrow) there is going to be a little forced corporate bonding so we can all "get to know each other a little better." Keep in mind that we just moved into our new studios and there have been some growing pains between us (the new ones) and the people who have been working in that building for years. So I understand why they're making us do this. It's at a bowling alley. It starts at 3 p.m. and the memo from our big, big, big boss was signed, "Thanks in advance for your participation" which I took to mean, "Get your asses to the bowling alley and make nice."

Fine, I'll go...whatever.

Now this is where the story goes from, "Where is she going with this?" to "Whoa, TMI." I'm warning you in advance, you might not want to read any further.

You've been cautioned.

So, as a female, I've gotten really good at being inconspicuous when I need to take a tampon to the bathroom with me. I wear a long-sleeved shirt. I put my hand in my purse and I slide it up my sleeve so that I can excuse myself to the restroom without anyone knowing what I'm doing. It's way sneakier than if I were to take my entire purse with me...that would be too obvious. This little trick has always worked for me without any problems...until today.

With tampon up sleeve, I was on my way to the bathroom today when my big, big, big boss passed me in the hallway. Of course, I said hello to him and while I should have just kept going I decided to be my overly-friendly self and throw in, "I'm really looking forward to bowling tomorrow!" Criminy Christmas, holy Lord have mercy, why did I just do that? The big, big, big boss then stopped and started up a little conversation about the impetus behind the bowling party...why he thought it was necessary...what he hopes it will accomplish...etc, etc, etc.

I nodded along and agreed with everything he said.

Here's a little side note about me. I talk with my hands quite a bit. I make lots of gestures and motions...especially in the work environment...it's instinctual...although I'm not exactly sure why I do it.

Anyways, as I was making a broad sweeping motion with my hand (because I had apparently forgotten that I had a tampon stuffed up my sleeve) it came flying out...right in front of my big, big, big boss. At first he didn't know what it was...an ink pen maybe? As if this story couldn't get any worse, he bent down to pick it up for me!!!!! I had never moved so fast in my whole life. I practically dove for it. The panic-stricken expression on my face must have completely given it away because he definitely figured out very quickly that it wasn't, in fact, an ink pen...but a big 'ol hunk of cotton that I was getting ready to put up my vag.

Sweet Jesus. Hail Mary.

We both just kind of froze and as he jumped back (probably out of disgust) I snatched it up and took off running down the hallway...calling back over my shoulder, "Yeah so I'll...uhhhh...see you tomorrow at Country Club Lanes!"

Once inside the bathroom, I wanted to DIE. I had all but pegged my big, big, big boss in the face with my tampon! I had just let him know that I'm currently bleeding like a dead animal...I told you this was going to be TMI...but more importantly, I don't know how I'm ever going to face him again.

I can't think of a time when trying to be a polite southern belle has ever been more of an inconvenience (and utter disaster) than it was today. Please, someone save me from myself...bless my heart.

"Carolina Girls...Sweet Southern Pearls."