Monday, April 12, 2010

I'm Going to Talk About My Period Now

Joe has long claimed that he knows when I'm about to start my period. Which is saying something since it can be a bit erratic and usually I don't even know when it's coming (I know what you're thinking and frankly I don't think it's enough information...) Apparently, my mood changes. I become grouchy and irritable. I want to talk about how the world is ending and he doesn't love me and everyone is going to die, probably today, and why doesn't he care? PMS, he says. I say he better be glad he doesn't live nearby because I would like to punch him in the testes.

I started my period for the first time at the end of 5th grade, mere months after our first sex ed class which explained what was going to happen to us soon and that it was perfectly okay and normal and DON'T FREAK OUT. So when my period started and I found myself all alone in my house after school, I did not freak out. I totally know what this is, I thought calmly. This is my period. They said this would happen. I should not freak out. So I calmly went to my parent's bathroom, got a pad, and probably went back to playing with my dollhouses.

When my mom got home I told her what happened and I also gave her firm instructions not to tell Dad. She looked me in the eye and promised me she wouldn't.

When my dad got home, I walked into the kitchen for dinner. He congratulated me. In front of my brother. I shot my mother a horrified look and then my knees buckled, my face got red and hot, and then my whole body liquefied and I became a sizzling puddle of humiliation on the floor.

My mother had lied. My father knew something unspeakably embarrassing about me. I was betrayed and humiliated.

So maybe it's not the hormones that make me so unpleasant, Joe, but the deep-seated correlation between every monthly cycle and betrayal, humiliation and the end of life as I know it. Did that not ever occur to you?

Ass.

1 comments:

D&D said...

God that's good.