Can I just say, as the daughter of a raving mad hippy feminist, I was the, er, proud recipient of a menses ritual when a teenager and I have never forgiven my mother for it.
And for once I am NOT making this up...
Now if she'd bought me a Chanel compact I'd have been delighted but no, she decided in good faith, to knit me a jumper. There were many many problems with this approach. 1. She wasn't very good at knitting. This meant it took much longer than planned and by the time it was finished I had been through puberty and it was like it had been in the tumble dryer. Not that we had one of course, being hippies... 2. Moreover, the not being good part meant that she had a limited repertoire of styles. Fairisle mostly. In luminous shades of raspberry, purple and green. Mmmmmm. And 3. It was a menstruation jumper. Which meant it had, smack bang across the middle, in bright red, the exact date and time of my first period. Alongside this gem of necessary public information were some lovely blue fairisle crocodiles (I guess she'd only got so far in the NUTTER'S BOOK of KNITTING ABC...)
Oh yes. You can imagine just how many times I wore that while slapping on my eyeliner to hang out with spotty callow youth and listen to China Crisis?
Bless her though, she never threw it out and some years later made a killer blow by getting the offending date bit, replete with menstruating crocodiles, beautifully framed for me as a gift.
I do honestly cherish it but only because it reminds me what a fabulous lunatic family I have and it reminds me to be COMPLETELY SANE AND UNEMBARRASSING with my own kids.
I only have boys fortunately so all I need do now is come up with some ejaculation rituals....