Morning Monster, that’s what my loved ones call me.  They call me that for a reason.  I am simply unbearable for about an hour after I wake up.  I have a disgusting scowl on my usually pleasant face, and I communicate mostly in incoherent grunts.  My family tiptoes around me, my friends refuse to call before noon, and children run away from me.  I’m not ashamed to admit it.  I do not peak in the mornings.  I’m more of a late-afternoon person.

One of my well-known morning pet peeves is strictly avoided at all costs.  I hate waking up in the morning with a to-do list that I am unaware of.  I hate receiving calls or voice messages asking if I’ve run some errand… I hate opening emails to see that there is some favor someone needs or that I forgot to pay some bill.  I need coffee before I can deal with my day.

It has recently come to my attention that my beloved tampon industry has decided to merge with the fortune cookie industry.  Now, my individually wrapped tampons come with a lovely little idiom to keep me upbeat for the next couple of hours (until I need to change again).  I understand that the intent of these fortune tampons is to motivate and uplift the spirits.  However, this morning they did neither.  In fact, they made me angry.  Very angry.

I hadn’t even put in my contacts before I went to the bathroom and grabbed that horrible little stick of plastic and cotton that I have grown so callous towards.  The little pink wrapper had little pink writing on it.  “Get ready to take on the world!” Yes, the nerve of my tampon to be so cheery.  It even had a damn exclamation point.  I threw it in the bathtub.  I did not have any intention of getting ready to take on the world today, nor did I want to.  I damn sure didn’t want to do it with any effort that would warrant an exclamation point.  In fact, all I wanted to do today was grab a giant tub of chocolate ice cream, watch a Tom Hanks movie, and continue scowling.  I resented the fact that my tampon was telling me what I should be doing, especially something as colossal as taking on the world.  I already had too much shit to do.

I threw the rejected fortune tampon in the bathtub and yanked another one out of the box.  “Practice makes perfect!”  Another exclamation point.  This one gave me a slight smile.  Not because it was motivational by any means.  I smiled because something I was about to insert into my vagina had suggested that I needed more practice.  At what?  I could only guess.  I sat there thinking about all the things my tampon was telling me I should be practicing.  Most of them revolved around my lady bits.  I decided this one was a winner. 

Perhaps the tampon/fortune cookie industry had missed the mark.  Or perhaps, I am not their targeted demographic.  Nonetheless, I feel as though motivational tampons should work under the assumption that I am already pissy.  I am typically hormonal and moody, and if I am using this product, these feelings are going to be increased exponentially.  My fortune tampons should say things like, “All women experience bloating! It’s not just you!” or “Chocolate kills the pain!”  I would be happy with those. 

My tampons are now categorized into Morning Appropriate and Not Morning Appropriate.