This blog is about my period. I figured I’d put it right out on Front Street*.
That’s right. MY. PERIOD.
If you’ve stopped reading after reading that, I commend you for knowing where your boundaries are. I congratulate you for knowing when to say when, when enough is enough and when you just can’t go any further.
I, however, have no fucking choice in the matter. I have to see it through. Because it’s not going away. At least not for a few days. And it’s not going away permanently until I reach that magical state of nirvana called Old. That glorious time when having to buy tampons will be just one of the things that I laugh about whilst I think, Remember when?
I SO look forward to Old.
In the meantime, my period is that fucking fantastic few days of the month where perfect doesn’t exist. It just doesn’t. Because the state of perfection is pretty fucking hard to manage when you have to be aware every second that you could – at any time – look like Carrie at the prom from the waist down.
It also doesn’t matter if you have a perfect hair day, wear the perfect outfit or have the perfect ideas during that precious time of the month, because everything is overshadowed by the fact that you have a wad of cotton shoved in your cooch. Not just any wad of cotton, but a wad of cotton that you have entrusted to make you feel perfectly normal.
I don’t feel perfectly fucking normal on a perfectly fucking normal day. No cotton stuffed cooch is going to do that for me during my period.
Even the simplest thing – such as what to have for dinner – becomes a frustrating attempt to satisfy that craving with the perfect food. Which, frankly, doesn’t exist. Why, you ask? Because no one makes an ice cream sundae covered in hot fudge, ripple chips and Midol. Nor is there such a thing as a fucking chocolate covered salt lick.
Anyone who tells you that you can carry on as if nothing is happening while you have your period is a fucking liar that has never had a period.
You know what the best thing about a period is?
No, seriously. Tell me.
I’m asking for friend…
*stolen from Kevin Smith, who may not appreciate it being used to put my period on Front Street.