Sea SpongeWorthy

For those on the spectrum of information-sharing that tilt to cringing when discussing personal hygiene, please turn away from your computers. Now.

For those of you still reading, please be advised this is not some treatise on acquatic fauna or an analysis, academic or satirical, of SpongeBob, Squidward, Sandy and Patrick, and the world of Bikini Bottom.

No, this is the ranting of a woman in search of the perfect menses-trapping-tool. Of that one thing that will not only suck up the, umm, monthly release of the Ganges River that my uterus spews forth since having children, but also not end up in what I'm sure has become an ever-growing mountain of bleached-cotton landfill.

I was raised on maxi pads, of course, as well as Tampax tampons, being a child of the early 70s. I moved on, in my 20s, to OB, having the, uh, balls to finally figure out how to shove the little thing up my hoohaw correctly. You all know what I'm talking about, too - the initial, tentative, scary attempts at putting the tiny obelisk in far enough so that it didn't feel like it was there. Of course, it still felt like I was trying to stuff the Washington Monument up there. But having been raised by hippy parents, I was more afraid of going to Environmental Purgatory than I was of some temporary pelvic pain, or of losing the chochi-plug in the nether regions of my cervix. So the attempts continued until I perfected the delicate technique that involved several steps - from spreading to sitting back, from relaxing to then clenching.

Through years of flow, in and out of full moons and monthly craziness, birth control pills and Aleve, I have purchased and used the Instead cup; more OB tampons than I can shake a (crampy) stick at; every iteration of a maxi pad known to womankind. Thin, thick, extra-thick, wide, overnight, double-wide, with wings, long, extra-long, navel-to-clavicle, without wings, light, heavy - you name it, it's been in my basket at the drug store. I stuck with OB tampons, as they seemed to entail the least amount of damage to the Earth post-use. Then I found the organic cotton ones at my local health food store and started to use those.

I didn't mind paying extra if it meant less of a toll on our planet. I felt virtuous and smart and as if I was heeding the admonition of a great chief of the Iroqouis nation - that we must consider our decisions and actions as bearing on the next seven generations.

Imagine how utterly, mind-blowingly angelic I feel as I write this, with a sea sponge, yes, you read right, A SEA SPONGE, playing the part of a tampon. An Oscar-worthy performance, mind you. No leakage, no pain, same process of insertion, only better coverage of my menstrual hole. And can we just, for a non-cotton-picking minute, talk about the Earth-loving, resource-saving piece of genius that is this innovation?

The sea sponge is like the ocean's version of bamboo!! It regenerates like a bunny in heat!!

They are purse-friendly, come with their own little cotton carrying bag, make OBs look like CO2-spewing smoke-stacks in Newark, and cost as much as one box of tampons. So even if you're not in the mood to save the planet, you have figured out that saving is the new black, right? Go spongy and send your kid to college! No kids? No problem! Take a vacation to Costa Rica, courtesy of Jade Pearl, the makers of the Sea Pearls Sea Sponge Tampon I'm planning on using for the rest of my menstrual days.

I'm so pleased with myself, I was about to forget to thank the Berkeley Bowl, in Berkeley, California (where else would I have found such an environmentally-friendly, hippy invention?), where I bought the two trimmable, customizable, naturally flow-sucking sponges that will, hereafter, adorn my uterine opening.

Here's to sustainability!!!