As you can probably guess, my room-mate isn’t crazy about the word vagina. It doesn’t matter how many times I tell her it’s the actual, biological, anatomically correct term – she would rather pretend we’re all walking around with fabric crotches like rag dolls.

I didn’t care. I walked into the school store, strode right past the hockey players with my head held high and grabbed a box of tampons from the shelf. In fact, I purposely picked one of those bright neon, ‘Hey, look at me – my nineties throwback color scheme makes your period fun!’ boxes. Mostly to attract as much attention as possible and piss off Mary Kate – who had followed me inside after all. (I guess she was still sensitive about that whole Noah’s Ark thing. I mean, even Taylor Swift has two cats.)

But little did I know that Mary Kate had no intention of letting my tampons attract ANY attention. ‘Okay,’ she said, ‘now we just need something big …’

As she scanned the shelves with her eyes narrowed, I said, ‘Um … what?’

‘Something big!’ she repeated, like it totally made sense. Her face lit up. ‘Look! Perfect!’

It was a party-sized bag of Hint of Lime tortilla chips.

‘They’re to cover up what you’re buying,’ she explained. ‘I always buy something big to hide them. The best is when it’s summer and the stores are selling beach towels, then you can just wrap the box up completely.’

‘You buy a beach towel every time you have your period? That is beyond ridiculous! How did I not know this about you? Wait …’ I frowned. ‘I was your room-mate all last year, but I don’t think I’ve ever been with you when you buy tampons. When do you buy tampons?’

‘I don’t! My mom buys them for me at home and mails them to the dorm.’

I shook my head and shoved the bag of chips back on the shelf. ‘Nope. Not happening. I’m not being part of your menstruation-shaming tomfoolery. I have a vagina, I need tampons – get over it.’

Holding my neon tampon box proudly aloft, I went to pay. There was a long line at the register, so I put my tampons on the counter and waited. Then I heard a telltale crinkle behind me: it was Mary Kate with the Hint of Lime tortilla chips.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her trying to sneak the chips in front of my tampons. I swatted the bag away. She kept sneaking, I kept swatting, she kept sneaking, I kept swatting, and finally I whirled around, grabbed the bag and snapped: ‘It’s my period, Mary Kate, not a bowl of guacamole!’