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My period does what it wants. I never know the day or the hour of when my Aunt Flo will make her epic return. With the help of Clue, my handy-dandy period tracker, I can get a ballpark estimate. But mostly, I’m just winging it. Now, women know this is just about the worst way to keep your panties (or pants, for commando enthusiasts like myself) from being completely soiled by nature. However, according to women who champion menstrual cups, they’ve finally found a product can make that happen. The all-in-one, no-fuss feminine hygiene product helps you stay ready. Basically, I was told that you can stick it in your hoo-ha when you sense that Aunt Flo is planning her arrival, and you won’t have to worry about her making an unexpected mess.

Well, I call bullsh-t.

I must admit that when I first got my hands on the clear, reusable medical-grade Lunette cup, I had pretty high expectations for it. This thing was going to catch my heavy flow without so much as a drip-drop of leakage and, most importantly, I could pop it in and forget about it (until it was time to change it of course). This tiny wonder wouldn’t just make my periods more eco-friendly or save me from spending nearly $20 on an array of products every time my period came around–I stock up on my period arsenal of tampons, pads and panty liners just in case–but it would also be the answer to all of my period problems. Even the brightly colored packaging was pleasant, so I dove into this contraption headfirst. I had no idea the bloody chaos that awaited me, though.

First of all, it leaks. And it didn’t just happen after my first time using it. I’ve used the menstrual cup for a few periods now, and every time, a panty liner is completely necessary. However, the real fun didn’t begin until I had to dump the discharge. The suction, which is great for when you want the cup to stay in place, becomes a complete nightmare. You’ve basically got to be Brienne of Tarth to get the damn thing out. It was like a bloody massacre trying to wiggle a finger (and a nail extension might I add) between the cup and my cooch, for lack of a better term.

In one desperate mission, I was head down, squatting and clawing around like a rabid animal. I just wanted it out. Let’s just say there was more blood than The Red Wedding and it came spilling out of my cup.

Some uses went smoother than others, but in general, it was often a pretty dramatic ordeal. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not the Lunette brand (they have amazing reviews), and the size wasn’t the problem because I’ve tried all the comfy ones. I just don’t enjoy the removal process and being that up close and personal with my menstrual cycle. Maybe once I have a kid I’ll kick it down there more often and get more in touch with my bodily fluids. For now, though, it can feel like too much just to fish out the cup. And though these contraptions are more health-conscious, they’re not necessarily easier to use (seriously, you can break a sweat just trying to get it in). Plus, I was still worried I’d bleed through your favorite Topshop denim.

The upside if you ever want to try one? You become very familiar with your blood; it’s color, it’s smell and the amount you pass each month. You know, if you’re dying to know those sorts of things. But while I’m glad technology has taken feminine hygiene products this far and “yay” for feminists finding another way for women to get in touch with their bodies, I’d rather just keep it old school, y’all. Until scientists develop a tidier method of cleaning out the cup, when my uterine wall lining rains down during a pivotal moment of Love & Hip Hop Atlanta, I’ll just pop in a tampon and keep it moving.

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