Further proof that people have entirely too much money or entirely too much free time — or that there really IS a sucker born every minute, I give you:

Period parties. By Menarche R Us!

That’s right! Paper goods and invites to that o-so-special soiree you throw when your little girl becomes a woman. I’m sure that every adolescent girl wants to announce to the world that she’s started her period by having a huge to-do. Really. No embarrassment there, at all. In fact, I bet the market for red velvet cake depends on such parties.

Don’t get me wrong; menarche is the female rite of passage.  It’s a big deal to young girls — who’s got boobs, who’s getting ‘em, who has gotten “it,” who’s still waiting…above all, the advent of “the Talk**” and the mysteries of the opposite sex. It’s all of a piece (so to speak). However, most girls (and a fair number of women) would rather deal with such things privately and discreetly, with as little attention paid and fuss as possible. The only people I know who announce such things loudly to all and sundry, and make a big deal of it are certifiable moonbats.

You don’t get a lot of women who broadcast it. O, your close female friends might know. Or some smart-ass might make an ill-timed/ill-conceived (heh) comment, but like many bathroom things, it’s a personal matter. A bright red, eight-foot banner is pushing it.

(**Cranky Dad was the one to give me “the Talk” when I started my first period, because predictably, the SMother was otherwise occuppied. I believe it was along the lines of, “I don’t know what you’re doing out there, girly, but if you are, knock it off!” OK, not really — it was awkward for both of us, but fairly factually complete, and came with a helpful book that had the most FASCINATING pictures. Who knew guys had little bagpipes in their britches???)