A woman’s hilarious letter to her maxi pad company has gone viral again – she shows them the reality of periods
When Wendi Aarons unfurled her eloquence in a missive to Proctor & Gamble, anointing the company with accolades for the potency of its maxi pads, little did she foreknow that after 14 years, her words would grace the ears of attendees at Letters Live in London—an event co-produced by the esteemed Benedict Cumberbatch.
Drawing inspiration from the audacious “Have a Happy Period” campaign, unveiled by the corporate behemoth, Wendi—a scribe of acerbic wit—ensnared global attention through her uproarious epistle that extolled the ingenious maxi pad.
The majority of women find solace in the satirical brilliance that Wendi’s missive exudes, a playful jest directed at the “Have a Happy Period” maxi pad crusade. This promotion posits that the magical prowess of Always’ maxi pads ushers in revolutionary features, transforming monthly visits into a cavalcade of enjoyment, invoking skills akin to salsa dancing, frolics by the beach, or gallant horseback trots.
But the pièce de résistance lies in Wendi’s portrayal, at the age of 55, of the Flexi-wings that bestow a quasi-aerodynamic flair upon the sanitary pads.
Addressing James Thatcher, the then-brand custodian at Proctor & Gamble, Wendi—a Texan freelancer of the written art—stated, “For over two decades, I have been a devoted patron of your ‘Always’ maxi pads, and I cherish many of their attributes. Without the LeakGuard Core or the absorbency of Dri-Weave, I would perhaps abstain from equestrian pursuits and the rhythmic allure of salsa. Indeed, I would refrain from bounding across the shoreline in snug, alabaster shorts.” Her discourse persists, “Yet my favored facet must unquestionably be your pioneering Flexi-Wings. Kudos for discerning the cardinality of aerodynamic maxi pads. Words fall short in conveying the sense of safety and fortitude I experience, for each month I embrace a petite F-16 within my attire.”
In a direct summons to Thatcher, she inquires, “Mr. Thatcher, have you weathered the tempestuous tides of menstruation? I venture, perhaps not. As I type, I sense the hormonal tempest raging within, mere moments away from metamorphosing me into what my spouse fondly dubs a ‘hillbilly savant with cutlery prowess.'”
Women, and those who have shared proximity with them, are well-acquainted with the tribulations accompanying monthly sojourns—aches, bloating, languor, and the undulating seas of temperament.
Directing her ire towards the architect of the campaign, she affirms, “You must surely acknowledge the arduous passage many women endure. The crux being, sir, that amid this panorama, the American landscape teems with homicidal maniacs adorned in Capri pants… a segue to my missive’s raison d’être. In the throes of cramps that urge me to excavate my own uterus, I unraveled an Always maxi pad last month. Imprinted upon the adhesive shield were these very words: ‘Have a Happy Period.'”
Diplomatically channeling her intensifying exasperation, Wendi further implores the composition of content that is “truly pertinent,” such as ‘Lay Down the Hammer’ or ‘Vehicular Homicide Is Unjust.’
Wendi’s parting note announces her allegiance’s migration, no longer tolerant of the condescension that Proctor & Gamble’s brand purveys.
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Wendi, the wordsmith behind “I’m Donning Tunics Now,” a tome endorsing menopausal celebrations, recounted on Today that her epistle to Proctor & Gamble, scribed during her twenties, kindled her vocation’s spark.
“The day I confronted the condescending proclamation ‘Have a Happy Period’ on an Always maxi pad marked the liberation of my latent humor. A satirical composition, penned from the perspective of a middle-aged woman, went viral,” she recounted. “As the adage goes, ‘Derive mirth, not ire,’ and so I did.”
The resonance of this memorable missive resurged as Scottish luminary and director Dawn O’Porter unveiled it at London’s Royal Albert Hall during the Live Letters series, prompting cascades of mirthful applause.
The Live Letters series, an assemblage where “profound letters are vocalized by an eclectic ensemble of stellar performers,” includes the illustrious Benedict Cumberbatch as its orator.
Devotees across the globe reveled in the Scottish persona’s rendition of Wendi’s discourse, expressing their sentiments through digital quills.
One commentator reminisced, “I distinctly recall my inaugural encounter with ‘Have a happy period.’ My response—’Whose folly spawned this notion? Can one eviscerate him and employ his innards as shoelaces?’ Surely, none but a man could conceive this. No woman could be that imprudent.” Another virtual aficionado, casting aspersions upon the campaign’s architect, dubbed him a “dunderhead,” exclaiming, “For over two decades, I’ve gazed at these adverts, bewildered—’Who is their target audience?’ Equestrians? Tennis players? Artistic gymnasts, for heaven’s sake! Imbeciles!”
Commenting on the “Have a Happy Period” peel-off, an Australian voice chimed in, “Down under, pad shields don an array of random trivia. Thus, when a woman emerges from the loo, spouting tidbits of knowledge, it’s a telltale sign of her menstruation.”
Meanwhile, a gentleman weighed in, tongue in cheek, professing, “I’ve cultivated a talent for immobility and discerning when to adopt the mien of a statue, all courtesy of my beloved spouse.”
Wendi Aarons’ comedic prowess is truly unparalleled, and we concur with the adage, “Amass mirth, not choler!” Her narratives wield humor as an incisive instrument, wielding a resonance that commands attention!
Do you recollect the genesis of this epistolary escapade? How does it resonate within your consciousness?
