elbow him in the ribs. “Don’t be a jerk, there’s nothing wrong with makeup or any other girly products,” I tell him, standing up for Ellie. “Not makeup, Dad, feminine products. Like, pads and tampons.” “That’s enough, say no more. Here’s my credit card,” he tells her, grabbing his wallet and handing over his card. I can’t help the belly laugh as it bursts from my lips. “Are you seriously squeamish about periods, pads, and tampons?” I ask, sitting up so I can get a good look at him. “When it comes to my daughter, yes,” he states, looking a little green.
