Fact: Tampons are not pens.

A woman’s purse is no place for strangers. Have you noticed how we have about 52 different little nooks and crannies and zippers and pockets to keep all our womanly secrets hidden? Like chewed gum wads and big receipts and tampons? THOSE POCKETS ARE THERE FOR A REASON. Let me explain.

When you fail to keep your tampons in hidden purse compartment #16, also known as the place for pens, you risk flashing them to the world at random and extremely inconvenient times. Just like I did the other day at the grocery store.

Jude Law was standing at the checkout, helping me bag my stuff. (Don’t be gross.) (And it wasn’t really Jude Law, but basically. He lacked the accent, but had the hair. Close enough.) I made a mental sigh of relief as I realized I didn’t have anything weird and awkward in my cart for him to see.

You know you’ve been there, when you were standing in the line with a male checker and you were at the store buying a pregnancy test or something. There’s nothing quite as awkward as that. Except when the scanner thing malfunctions on the exact freaking item you don’t want it to, and male checker is forced to inspect the box and run it through 300 more times until he gives up, holds it in the air and makes an announcement for the next checker’s help to manually type in the code. Meanwhile, you’re sweating, but trying to act like it’s no big deal and that the pregnancy test is “for a friend”. You swear you’re not a whore.

Anyway, back to Jude Law.

So I didn’t have any pregnancy tests in my cart and I was now at the point where I had to take my card out of my wallet to pay. Jude is waiting there, being adorable and patient as I pull my wallet out of my bag and open it up. There, waiting for me like some sort of cruel surprise sent from Satan, was a tampon. IN my wallet. IN the place meant for pens. Apparently I didn’t put it in secret purse compartment #16 meant for pens and it found yet ANOTHER place meant for pens to go chill. Satan’s work? I think so.

This is the worst part and I swear it happened in slow motion: Before I could snap the wallet shut to hide it, my little tampon friend decided to roll out onto the little check-signing stand like it was asking Jude for his autograph.

Needless to say, I’m dead right now.