Kris skulks around the deodorant aisle, attempting to mentally steel himself for the mission ahead of him. He’s pretty sure the lady at the pharmacy counter is 5 seconds away from calling security to boot his from the store. To be fair, he has been pacing back and forth and muttering to himself for about 20 minutes and he can understand why that would be a bit disconcerting. He takes a deep breath, crosses himself and then painstakingly walks the three steps to the next aisle. 
The feminine hygiene aisle (cue horror movie font and manly screams).
As he stands frozen in front of shelves of pink plastic bags he ponders the sequence of events that led him to this very moment.
It all began when he visited Amber’s studio. (Cue aerial shot of Kris staring into the distance as the camera pans away into a flashback sequence)
***
He had been spending a rare day off at Amber’s studio, messing around with the mixing software. He had actually managed to create a pretty cool beat by fusing gǔqín, dubstep and Mongolian throat singing. He played it for Amber, asking whether it would make a cool addition to one of EXO’s new tracks. She recommended he sleep on it and then conned him into paying for pizza delivery
After lunch, Amber curled up for a nap on the small couch and Kris went online, checking the usual fan forums to ensure that his legion of anonymous worshippers is still growing and going strong. He frowns as he inspects the review for his latest airport fashion. The fans were ecstatic about the look which is a clear indication that he’s losing his touch and needs to up his fashion game when they’re in L.A next week. He fiddles with the rip in the knees of his jeans. Maybe he could go with an asymmetrical look. He thoughtfully eyes the left leg of his pants.
Amber shifts on the sofa and he looks over to see her splayed out, mouth open as she drools onto the cushion. This is prime blackmail picture taking opportunity and Kris is never one to look a gift llama in the mouth. He tiptoes over and aims his camera, tipping her head back so he can get a clear shot up her nose. He snaps three shots in quick succession before his hand slips and his phone drops on, straight on her face. She awakens with a yelp, legs shooting out to catch him in the stomach and he probably should’ve taken her martial arts abilities into account before this endeavor. He gasps for air on the floor, clutching at his kidney as Amber laughs at him. “Serves you right, dude.” She jumps on him, trying to get to his phone. They end up wrestling on the floor until she pins him down, letting out a triumphant yell as she gets to the device. “And now for deletion.” She fiddles with his phone as he struggles to throw her off. 
Suddenly she freezes, eyes widening. He panics, thinking she’s accessed his post-shower shirtless selca collection (although he’s usually careful about keeping those in locked folder). “I can explain,” he blurts out, right as she mumbles “, not now.” and jumps off him to run to the bathroom. He hears the door slam behind her.
He waits for her to come back as he absent-mindedly rubs at some weird brown stains on the front of his jeans (pizza sauce?). When twenty minutes pass and she hasn’t come back, he gets concerned. He knows his abs (or lack thereof) aren’t much to look at but they shouldn’t cause fainting. He gingerly knocks on the bathroom door. “Ambs, you okay in there?”
He hears something clatter to the floor and a litany of curses before she responds. “Um I’m okay. Kinda.” There’s a shuffling sound and he hears her move closer to the door. “Can you grab my backpack? It’s by the sound boards.” He spots it and brings it over. “Got it.”
“Okay, check the small pocket. There should be a, uh, pad in there.” He can practically hear her cringing and in all honesty, he’s flushing too. “Just slide it under the door.”
He rifles through the bag but all he locates is an empty pack of gum and some Kleenex. “Um, there’s nothing here.”
He hears her take a deep breath before she speaks again. “Okay. Um, I’m really sorry to make you do this but can you go buy some? There’s a supermarket down the street.”
“Can’t you just use, I don’t know, toilet paper or something instead?” All of Kris’ survival instincts are telling him to abandon ship right now.
“No, it’s-um, too heavy, it couldn’t absorb the uh flow And I think I stained my shorts, I can’t go out like this.” she sounds dangerously emotional. Kris does not do emotional. Kris especially does not do emotional Amber. “Look dude can you please just go buy them, and some pants. We’ll never speak of this again afterwards, I promise.”
Well, now he’s in a bind. He sighs. “Where’s your wallet?”
“My jacket.” He drags his feet towards the couch, rifling through the pockets. He catches sight of a large brown stain on the cushions and suddenly the stains on his jeans have an origin. Blanching, he heads towards the door. Seems like he’ll need to pick out some new pants too.
***
(End flashback. We now rejoin our hapless hero as he confronts the aisles of estrogen)
Kris finally plucks up the courage to gingerly pick up one of the packs. It’s printed with terrifying medical jargon, foreign phrases such as “wings”, “overnight use”, and “unscented” jumping out at him. He puts it down and picks up one of the tampon boxes instead. The package declares it to have environmentally friendly cardboard applicators, organic cotton and break proof strings. (Applicators? Cotton? Strings?,) The flap of the box is slightly opened and a small piece of paper falls to the ground. He picks it up, squinting at the diagrams. And he could’ve happily lived a thousand lifetimes without ever needing to know how tampon insertion works. He’s feeling a bit woozy so he stumbles out of the aisle and heads to the candy section, unwrapping a Crunky bar and cramming it into his mouth as he frantically dials Amber.
“Hey, you got everything?” Amber asks when she picks up.
“Well, I got you new shorts.” 
“And?”
“And the ladies aisle is scaring me, Amber, I don’t think I can do this.” He knows he sounds ridiculously whiny right now.
“Kris.” Amber’s voice is steely. “I am sitting on the toilet of my 3 x 3 foot bathroom; my clothes look like I slaughtered a sheep in them and my uterus is trying to cramp its way down my cervix. So you get your back in that aisle or so help me god, I’m going to set your entire shoe collection on fire. Slowly.” She pauses for dramatic effect before continuing. “If you’re confused, ask a salesgirl for help.”
Well, why didn’t he think of that? “Got it. I’ll be there soon, Ambs.” He heads back to the pharmacy aisle, resolving to ask the kindly looking ahjumma for help.
Except the ahjumma’s shift seems to have ended and in her place is a pretty, young college student. He curses the universe before sighing and making his way over. “Excuse me.”
She smiles up at him (her dimples are cute. So are her . Focus Kris). “How may I help you?”
“Um,” he makes an awkward hand gesture. “I need-“ he doesn’t know the Korean word for sanitary pad. “Uh that covering things you use over your.” He gestures to his pants and her eyes widen. , , time to backtrack. “I mean for when you’re.” he doesn’t know the word for menstruation either. “Having issues? With your-uh-bladder? No, I mean your other parts.” She’s staring at him like he’s lost his mind. “It’s for a friend’ he finishes weakly.
She snaps her fingers. “Oh, I understand. Please follow me.” She leads him to an aisle, one with decidedly less pink and browses through the packages, pulling out one. “This should be the right size. Would you like to go pay now?”
“Yes please.” He follows her to the checkout where she scans it along with the pants before bagging it. “Thank you for shopping here.” She smiles at him. “I hope you-your friend feels better.”
He smiles, bowing to her before leaving. She was adorable. Maybe he can come back sometime and score her number. He can paint this entire situation to make him look all sensitive and caring. Chicks dig that. He jogs back to the studio.
He knocks on the bathroom door. “I’m back.”
“Oh great.” He hears Amber shuffle to the door before it opens slightly and her hand sticks out. He passes the bag over and it slams shut again. He quickly changes out of his sullied jeans into the new sweatpants he’d bought, balling up the denim and shoving it in the trash. He rifles through the mini-fridge, pulling out a can of iced tea. He hears sounds coming from the bathroom before Amber calls him over. “Kris, did you ask a salesgirl to help you?”
“Yeah, she picked the stuff out.” He takes a sip of his drink.
“Want to explain to me why she sold you adult diapers?”
His drink goes up his nose and he spends several seconds hacking and wheezing as he struggles to get oxygen back into his lungs. ”What?” 
“Dude, these are adult diapers. This is what they use on senior citizens to keep them from pissing themselves. I can’t use these.”
“Well, why not? Aren’t pads kind of like diapers anyways?”
“Stop talking about stuff you know nothing about, Wu. Get back to that supermarket.” He sighs, pulling his shoes back on as he gets ready to head out again. 
“Hey, why are these diapers extra large? You calling me fat, Wu?”
“These are the right size.” . ing perfect. The supermarket cutie thinks he has incontinence. What has he done to have the universe forsake him this way?
(Haunting gospel music plays as our downtrodden lead morosely makes his way down the street.)
**
He’s back on the battlefield (after making sure supermarket cutie was nowhere nearby) and he stares miserably at the packages on the shelf. He wonders if he can just stick his hand out and grab the first one he sees. He does exactly that, squinting at the package he’s pulled out. The package said these pads are for slow days. But Amber said her flow was heavy. He gets another package and adds it to the cart. But the new pads are unscented and he’s not sure if Amber wants her crotch to smell like perfume. Better buy the scented ones too. What in the does “with wings” and “without wings” mean? Better safe then sorry. 
By the time his highly sophisticated selection process is done, his cart is stuffed full of packages of pads, tampons and something called a diva cup (he’s not actually cure whether that has anything to do with menstruation or if it was meant mis-shelved from the crockery section). He pushes the cart out of the aisle and heads toward the checkout, longingly eyeing the soju bottles in the liquor section but the only thing more embarrassing then being papped buying pads is buying pads and liquor . He doesn’t need people thinking he has some kind of . There’s already enough misconceptions about his love for plushies.
He parks himself in the cosmetics aisle when he sees supermarket cutie chatting with one of the cashiers. In the meantime, he ends up playing around with the nail polish samples. By the time she finally leaves, his nails are ten different colours and three are sparkly (his application leaves a lot to be desired but he as always maintained pencil as his superior art medium). He zooms towards the empty checkout counter, nearly running over a three year old in his haste. From his right, he can see a middle-aged soccer mom aiming for the same register and he speeds up and manages to overtake her. Before he can gloat however, he gets slammed to the side by a surprisingly agile old lady who blows a raspberry in his face before beginning to unload her items. He ruefully takes his place in line behind her. The soccer mom eyes the contents of his cart, lips curling as he sees his nails. “ert.” She hisses before getting into another line. Her loss.
By the time the old biddy in front of him is through, Kris feels like he’s aged a decade and he has the irrational urge to inspect for white hairs. The cashier begins to scan his items, eyebrow raising as he eyes the haul ‘Girlfriend?”
Kris nods, too weary to explain. The cashier eyes him sympathetically and adds a huge chocolate bar and a mini pack of Tylenol to his items. “Hang in there buddy. We’ve all been there.” The other male employees in the vicinity also shout out encouragements, one even coming forward to pat Kris on the back. “Son, a boy only becomes a man once he has successfully braved the red curse. Today is a great day for you. Savour it.” Kris swears he’s got tears in his eyes. The cashier hands him his bagged groceries and clasps his hands. “God be with you.” The entire line salutes him as he makes his way out the door.
(Cue inspirational, uplifting instrumental as our hero leaves the battlefield, his arms heavy but his heart light)
**
He realizes it’s been almost two hours since this entire debacle started when he gets back to the studio. He knocks on the door and he hears Amber move around inside. “Dude, finally. I was this close to pulling a Tom Hanks and drawing a face on this toilet paper to talk to it.” The door opens and her hand sticks out. “You didn’t buy me a mattress or something this time did you?”
In response he hands her the two bulging bags he’s bought before walking over to he sofa. He flips the dirty cushion over before flopping down upon it, suddenly weary from his escapades. He hears the toilet flush and Amber finally emerges from the bathroom, looking a bit pale but none the worse for the wear. There’s an amused grin on her face.
“Dude, did you buy me a $200 worth of period crap?” she holds up the bags. “I don’t even know what some of this stuff is. Where’d you get the money?”
“Used my card” he mumbles, arm covering his eyes. “He feels the sofa press down as Amber sits beside him. “You’ll need to wash the sofa covers by the way.”
“Got it.” She rifles through the bag. “Aww, you bought me chocolate.” She stretches out beside him. “Hey thanks for everything. You kinda went above and beyond the call of duty today.”
“You’re welcome.” He mumbles, pulling her closer. “You owe me a new pair of pants. And a date with some cutie. I can’t ever go back for supermarket girl’s digits.” He ruffles her hair, letting out an exaggerated whine. “I just want to make out with someone.”
Amber punches his arm. “I’ll make out with you. But first, we nap.”
That seems like a perfectly reasonable course of action to him.
(Soft lighting surrounds our couple as the camera slowly pans away and the screen fades to black. The End)