Where the Private Things Are

I've noticed an alarming trend in social networking, and perhaps this topic has been covered in Twitter for Dummies or The Idiot's Guide to Facebook, but... way too many women are giving us way too much information. In fact, the term TMI may have been invented just because of this phenomenon.


Ladies. Girls. Women. Please do not "share" with the universe at large when you are... you know... whatever you want to call it--menstruating, having your period, on your cycle, being visited by Aunt Flo, Aunt Rose, or your "friend. Just don't.


To clarify, I'll provide a list of who wants to know when you are riding the cotton pony:

• Nobody.

It might feel good to complain about your mood or cramps or whatever, but I can assure you--we don't want to know. Sorry, but that's your own private pain. The rest of us--even fellow women--Simply. Don't. Need. To know. (Not mention, once you put that "out there", men who follow you will categorically discount all complaints you have for the rest of the week.) Probably if you wouldn't stand up and shout this information to a stadiumful of your acquaintances and also strangers, you shouldn't tweet it, either.


If you've already transgressed and shared TMI, don't despair. Just make a vow, here and now, to reform. To cut back your Monthly Mense Messages to, say... Never Again.


You can do this. It should remain a private little secret among the shoppers on the feminine hygiene aisle: you, a couple of other women, the young embarrassed husband, and the guy with the combover and a Cosmo magazine in hand, who darts in to grab a bottle of Astroglide. See? Sometimes we don't want all the deets.


A bit of mystery is a good thing.


Autumn Piper
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