That week all women look forward to
Here I am, eating cookie dough ice cream directly out of the container. Not just cookie dough ice cream, but cookie dough ice cream that I have smothered in almond butter. What is the celebration you might find yourself wondering. Well it’s my time to give thanks to the uterine gods for once again not giving me a baby. In just a few short days, March 7th to be exact, the tiny soldiers(?) in my uterine lining will implode(?) and then start to liquify (?) before they start gushing out of my lady bits.
I may be happy to be a woman, but there are some parts that are just too creepy for me to know about. Periods are one of those things. I can’t stand blood, or vomit, so why is it that 7 days out of every month leave me bleeding helplessly and wanting to vomit? It’s just not fair, and I want to understand as little of that witchcraft as humanly possible.If there was a way to eliminate it from my lifestyle entirely, I totally would.
The only redeeming quality menstruation has is that it means I’m not pregnant. Yipee! I see the murder scene in my pants and for a brief few moments I want to sing it loud for the world to hear. I want to dance into the streets and have random strangers join me in an intricately choreographed dance about being barren. Then the pain and nausea set in and I want to be a part of that same happy dance scene, only I want a bus to come speeding through and hit me. I want all of my blood to splash on the innocent dancers faces and then I want them to start screaming and run in opposite directions.
That’s what my period is like every month, terror, hysterics, and carnage.