So, somehow between my son and I, a conversation that started with his hilarious retelling of a guy in class pooping himself, ended with a serious discussion about women’s bodies. It’s not that long a stretch.
So, apparently there was a moment in the monster teen’s class the other day that a couple of guys were having a fart contest (teenage boys *sigh*). One guy who joined in actually sharted himself. I felt bad for the guy and hoped he wasn’t made fun of too much. Like I told the MT, women know all about “public accidents”.
I remember when my period came on the first time in middle school. A piercing headache followed by a monstrous cramp and a need to have a exorcist pea soup moment. By the time I got to the bathroom to unload, I had bled through my clothes. Luckily that was back in the day where everyone wore a hoody or jacket tied around their waist, so I was able to hide my stains until my mom came to pick me up that day. The rest of that day felt like dying. The continuous cramps, the constant bleeding. My feet so tender that I couldn’t stand, and a headache so fierce that I stayed in my room with the lights off cursing that I was born with giggles and bits instead of twigs and berries. And knowing that next month I had to go through the same daggone thing again.
My conversation ended with the MT kind of queasy and saying “Wow, women sure do have it rough.” To which I said “Yeah, and all a man has to do is pump-pump-squirt, and then 9 months later says ‘look what I made!”. And of course there are the men out there that don’t believe periods can be as women make it out to be. Those guys are the guys I wish for one day them to have dry tampon pushed aggressively into their butt hole, and then make them walk around with it allllll day.
I realize as a woman getting older though, my body just wants to produce the pain and psychotic-ness without the actual Red Sea. Which yay for not feeling like a self mutilating serial killer every month, but still weirds me out. I mean, I AM only in the early thirties. Menopause is supposed to sit and color for a few before she gets to come play.
I’d rather have the mental craziness drop off first anyway. Ever have the issue where every month for about a week you make questionable decisions because you have gone insane? Most of my break-ups happened during that week. Bad work decisions and burned bridges occur during that week. And you can’t even prepare for it. You can’t say “oh, well I’ll do the opposite of what I’m thinking because I’m thinking backwards.” But what if you only think you’re thinking backwards and you are really thinking forwards and you make the wrong decision thinking its the right decision because you know you’re insane and confused? Fudge bucket on a stick!
I love being a woman. We get nicer clothes and ooh shinies. But if it was possible to still be a woman AND ripped out my uterus, throw it on the ground and run over it with a humvee a couple of times, I’d be a much happier lady.