There’s paperless. And then there’s EW!

On the bus this morning, I noticed that photo in the PG and the photo went with a story entitled:  “Paper cutter:  Wilkins mom goes to great lengths to make paperless household work.”

So I went to the caption thinking I’m going to read about how right there in this picture she is sewing maybe some homemade book covers for the kids, or maybe a change purse, or a children’s book, or a fanny pack.  In fact, you could ask me to stick ANY WORD into this sentence “She is sewing _________________” and I would run through words like “a refrigerator” or “hate mail to Marian Hossa” or “howler monkeys” before I would ever get to the REAL word that completes that caption:

An expert seamstress, Mary Beth Karchella-MacCumbee makes paperless products in her home workshop. Here she is stitching menstrual pads.

[thud].  I stifled a laugh then looked sheepishly around the bus after the sudden guffaw and bowed my head to my paper as my seatmate looked quizzically at me.

It immediately got better/worse:

But surely there’s got to be toilet paper, right? Not for this family. There’s no paper towels, facial tissues or toilet paper. Instead, she sews cloth personal wipes out of hemp velour, cotton flannel, cotton velour or bamboo fleece.

What?   NO TOILET PAPER?!?!  Not even after Granny goes in there and does some wild nasty green goo?  Not even if someone has diarrhea? (sidenote:  spellcheck suggested “beforehand” in place of my misspelled “diarrhea”)

Used personal wipes go into a waterproof bag and then are emptied into a diaper pail. From there they’re washed and used again.

My mouth dropped open and I turned to my seat mate, “I’m sorry. This is offending my delicate sensibilities.  Can you imagine the STINK during the diaper pail to washer transfer!?”  My seatmate pretended to fall asleep.

One of her friends in Michigan sells crocheted cotton tampons and panty liners made of hemp, cotton and organic velour from an Internet Web site.

CROCHETED COTTON TAMPONS?!  That you insert into your body?  Then remove?  THEN WASH AND USE AGAIN?!  My seatmate looked concerned as I kept saying, “What?  What.  WHAT?!?!” to my newspaper.  Like it held the answers.  I read on.

“I’ve gotten three years out of my first set of [menstrual] pads,” she said,

And that’s when I knew.

I’m on Candid Camera, aren’t I?

Also, girls, here’s some pretty tampons for you to look at and imagine inserting into your vagina, ONLY after praying to the Gods of Toxic Shock Syndrome.

OMG.  GREAT BAND NAME!