“Vagina are like wounds that don’t heal” ~comedian Bo Burnham.
Truer words were never spoken. “It” comes by various names. Aunt Flow, T.O.M (Time of the month), The Crimson Wave, good old-fashioned Period, or what my brother favors because it’s the least visually stimulating — “The Dot.” The fact is plasma exiting your “love below” every month sucks.
The recent controversy over birth control by mostly male politicians, priests and commentators elicits my menstrual rage. If any of those men experienced a Freaky Friday, and switched places with a woman leaking Kool-aid shots, he would wimper for his mommy in T-minus 1 minute.
Birth control may be the greatest invention of the 20 century for a condition that can test even the strongest woman’s sanity. The temporary symptoms can be quite scary…
You become a pill popping junkie looking for her next hit.
Cramps: an action of inserting pliers into the vagina, pinching the cervix and screwing it counterclockwise, then repeatedly attempting to yank womb out of the victim’s body.
Ouch. I once asked my mother if cramp pain is on par with childbirth pain. They say it’s the worst pain you will experience in your life, and my cervix showing off by flexing certainly is. Not even comparable, she said. Darn you Eve.
Some use Mydol, Percocet, herbs, acupuncture, Zumba, a heating pad (that ish doesn’t work) for pain relief, but my preferred drug of choice is Ibuprofen. When Aunt Flow is at her bitchiest, roughing you around like a strung out madame, drug addiction fantasies are not far behind. One time, in a mental haze of curse words mixed with post-period daydreams, I thought “What would a crackhead do?” Crush the pills real fine, and insert them where internal diapers go to die. Instant pain relief. Too bad I couldn’t find a clean spoon.
Suicidal thoughts via self-impalement is common.
A self administered Mortal Combat hysterectomy comes to mind when I am on my period. “Finish her!!!” speech bubbles pop in my mind, with my blood stained right arm triumphantly holding up my pulsing uterus dangling with fallopian tubes and ovaries. Of course in this surgical fantasy, I subsequently grow facial hair, my voice starts cracking and I die. Why can’t vaginas have day spas just like kitty cats. Remove them for a bit for some R&R, and retrieve them when they are completely relaxed.
Vaginal suffocation is the leading cause of anger
I hate pads. I hate tampons.
With tampons, every trip to bathroom requires pulling the string back, like a drag queen tucking his schlong, to prevent the cohesion of pee and/or shit. Time for a science lesson. During cohesion, molecules attach to other molecules and travel along an object. It’s how plants stay hydrated. Now imagine pee or shat molecules traveling up the string into your vagina. Eww. Still, I’ll take my chances with toxic shock syndrome over a pad.
Contrary to the lie my fourth grade sex ed teacher told me and the rest of my pre-pubescent class, pads are just like diapers. Chafing, a visible poof line and unexpected leaks are the punishment for wearing a pad. Even worse, pads have a tendency of folding in half like a pizza slice, and shifting everywhere but the drop off point. Poor babies. No wonder they cry all the time.
Mayday Mayday…We have a leak !
“You have a brown spot on your butt,” said my friend. The horrible moment when you realize the waterfall you experience every time you stand up or sneeze has escaped the cave of you crotch is not fun. For some reason, that red Skittle juice loves to join your rainbow-striped granny panty at the most inconvenient time. And if caught unprepared, a dreaded toilet paper wad must serve as a substitute until you bum off a sanitary from an empathetic female.
Momentary onset of old people syndrome
“Old age is evil,” said my 70-year-old grandmother. Whenever she said that, I reminded her that living was better than having a gravestone over your head. As a sufferer of rheumatoid arthritis, chronic pain and forgetfulness, she often disagreed. Sounds very familiar… Periods are the root of all evil. You hurt all the time. Suddenly you back becomes hunched from bending over from the pain. Bloating causes you get to get a kangaroo pouch. And before you know it you look and feel like your post-menopausal granny. Oh the irony.
My cruel and unusual punishment
Unfortunately for me, I come from a fertile lineage of women who birthed kids well into their 40s. I will probably keep shooting Bloody Marys until well past qualifying for AARP membership and senior discounts. However, I will bear my scarlet letter with gusto gosh darn it…even as it literally drains the life out of me.
**The only consolation of having a period is knowing you aren’t pregnant. A friend of friend was late by only one day, and even though the closest her boyfriend had gotten to her vajajay was club grinding, she feared the worst. Oh the naiviete of a freshman immigrant child.
image by: bandita