Minutes earlier I was leaving the house simply to buy an innocuous pint of milk and bread - but then Kate called out with a request. I probably need to explain that my childhood was dominated by older brothers and a menopausal mother - 'women's things' weren't to be found in the house!
"I find the aisle then I stand in front of a myriad of choice - this is getting painful."I walk to the supermarket repeating in my mind what my mission entailed. It couldn't be that difficult surely. I find the aisle then I stand in front of a myriad of choice - this is getting painful. Finally I stretch and make a selection surreptitiously sticking it in the basket under the milk and bread, pay and walk home.
Walking home in palpable relief I think back to a conversation that I had with someone who came to church the other week. I think back to his discomfort, his shifting nervousness, his bobbing throat with a bouncing knee tick - "what do I-I do? I've not been to church before w-w-what do I have to do...?" How'd we manage to make the image of church something so alien that people feel like I do when I am in the Female Hygiene aisle?