Letter To My Period... I Hate You
Dearest Period,
Thanks a whole lot for coming to visit me today. No. I really mean that. I'm not being sarcastic at all. ~Snort~ My family just adores walking on eggshells and having to duck flying objects at a moment's notice when something is not particularly to my liking. I am all too happy to lay on my bed and wiggle into my jeans, sputtering a string of colorful expletives while trying to fasten the button over the bloat that wasn't there yesterday. And what woman doesn't love desperately hunting through drawers at 3 in the morning for Tampons while you wring out her uterus like a Brawny paper towel? Cramps are where happy goes to die. And the mood swings... are to die for. I mean that literally. Nothing brings out the homicidal maniac in me quite the way you do. Let me put it this way... you know something is amiss when someone asks you how your day was and you turn around and singe the hairs on their face with what comes out of your mouth. If you really must come around, I would appreciate it if you would do so without hijacking my hormones, depositing three gallons of water in my midriff, and twisting my girly bits until they cry Mummy. That is all.
My period was so incensed by this letter that it decided to write me back. It said...
Dear Cynthia,
I hate to be the one to break it to you, but I have no control over what I do when I show up for my visit. It's actually your own damn uterus you should be mad at- it's as slow molasses in January and seems to have a hard time getting a jump on the task at hand. Kind of like you. And it's not like I ever show up unannounced... you always know when I'm coming, and it's not my fault you are so scatterbrained that you forgot to go to the store and stock up on tampons and Midol. As for your moods.. puhhhleeez... you are incorrigible the other 27 days out of the month that I'm not visiting you. Perhaps you wouldn't sear the eyeballs of your loved ones if you'd lay off the fatty foods that make your uterus so sluggish... which is why you wake up at 3 a.m. with cramps that rival labor pains. And lay off the soda pop... or those jeans are never gonna fit anyway. Face it... you are female and because of this, you must roll with the punches. I don't like visiting you anymore than you like seeing me, but it's time you make peace with the fact that we are stuck together for another 10-20 years, until it's hot flashes turn to take my place. If you thought I was bad, just wait. Now stop being a whiny bitch and go eat some chocolate. See ya next month. ~Fin~
Well then. That didn't work out quite the way I'd planned....
** She is one of my good blog member and an awesome expresser
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