Tell Us Your Horrifying Period Stories

Illustration for article titled Tell Us Your Horrifying Period Stories

Rust-spotted underwear. Ruined pants. Discolored dining chairs. Crippling cramps. Chances are, if you've had your period, you've had a menstruation mishap.

As a teenager, yours truly experienced a terrible incident involving getting my period while sleeping on a plane, during which a pair of jeans and an airplane seat cushion were ruined simultaneously. Traumatizing.

And you? Do you have a wretched, blood-soaked tale to tell? You may do so in the comments, or more anonymously via email. We're not looking for super sad medical tragedies (though feel free to share!). We're interested in regular days gone horribly wrong, thanks to that pushy and relentless bitch Aunt Flo. We'll collect the ten worst and award them with applause and hugs made of Dri-weave.


Earlier: Tell Us Your Awful Prom Stories
The Ten Worst Prom Stories We've Ever Heard
We Want To Know Just How Gross Your Body Can Be
10 Of The Grossest Stories You'll Ever Read

Share This Story

Get our newsletter


Sorcia MacNasty

It was the balmy summer of 1994 and I was deeply into the terrible trend of sloppily cut-off jorts. My favorite pair could lovingly be described as "mom jorts" and the edges looked like they'd been mercilessly gnawed by honey badgers.

Little Sorcia was also having her first summer romance, tra la! We were on our annual vacation at the beach and I was besotted with a *gasp* slightly older man (2 years my senior). It was a heady time, let me tell you.

Unfortunately, it was also that time of the month.

Since I'm nothing if not a modern gal, I was wearing one of those new-fangled tampons * — no pads to weigh this girl down! Also, how the fuck does one swim in a pad? In the ocean? I mean, doesn't it just fill with sea water and ultimately drag you down to the watery depths of the abyss? But I digress.

The Summer Lover and I were strolling along the beach at twilight, holding hands and making goo-goo eyes at one another. I was wearing my beloved mom jorts with nothing underneath, hoping for a little PG-13 snog fest later on. As I stepped over a large piece of driftwood, Summer Lover gallantly offered me his hand to help me over. As I took my giant step, he squinted, puzzled, at my groin. Then he said, "Hang on, you've got a really long string..."


Horrified (and suddenly doubled over in pain), I watched as the realization dawned on him. Then he shrieked like a little girl spotting a spider and hurled the bloody thing into the sea. Then he wildly started washing his hands in the surf, scrubbing them with sand. I lay crumpled into a ball, wishing only that the sun would crash into the earth and kill us all.

I don't know what was more humiliating. The fact that I had to walk BACK to the hotel with him, dripping blood into my mom jorts? Or perhaps how he mumbled something about suddenly having to get the fuck out of Dodge? Or maybe it was when I walked into our room and my grandmother blurted out, upon spotting me, "Dear Lord, Sorcia — are you bleeding to death?!" to the general guffaws of my insensitive family (who still think this story is too hilarious not to be shared at most family functions).

You decide.

* My history with tampons is a long and troubling tale that should serve as a warning to others. For instance, I didn't realize (being too ADD to read the goddamn instructions) that you REMOVE the cardboard applicator. For the first week I tried tampons, I just thought they were insanely, Victorian-era uncomfortable. Well, no shit, since I had a telescope of cardboard jammed into my pubescent hoo-ha all fucking day and night.