Okay — if you’re a girl, somewhere between 10 and 50, and you don’t already have a diva cup, then you need to get one forthwith.
I thought I had lost mine at a conference in OH. All sorts of horrible thoughts went through my mind — I’d left it in the shower and the poor housekeeper had to deal with it; it dropped out of my bag on the plane; someone in baggage handling stole it — the whole gamut . . .
As it turns out, I don’t seem to have left it in OH at all. It appears, given the jagged tears now visible in it, that it was stolen from my bag (set on the laundry room floor to facilitate doing, well, you know, laundry) by someone with big teeth, a keen sense of smell, and a penchant for anything resembling meat.