Dear Every Guy: Stop B*tching When We Have Our Periods
You don’t understand. If you are trying to commiserate with me, just stop.
What I mean is, thank you; you’re very sweet. But still, I want you to stop.
Fortunately for you, and horrifyingly for me, you will never know the pain that is bleeding out of an orifice of your body for seven-plus days in a row. A male friend once told me he doesn’t trust anything that can bleed for a week straight and not die, and that is the wonder of being a woman.
Rejoice, men, for apparently, you are the chosen ones and we are not.
You telling me you hate my period does nothing in favor of my plight; nobody hates my period more than I do. I am the one with an eye-blurring headache; I’m the one enduring the bloated, near-exploding stomach, and I am the one battling sticky inner thighs.
It’s awesome of you to acknowledge my pain, but you can’t take it away. As much as I wish it were you hosting the circumstances of this unfortunate blessing, instead of me (I have wished upon many stars), it’s simply not.
Chances are you’re not even commiserating with me for the burden I have to bear. Rather, your hatred of my monthly battle stems from the fact that my nether regions are closed for business. During this time, I am a hazard zone.
You, however, are fine, but you still feel the need to complain about how my bleeding body is making your life unpleasant. I would love for it to not be a problem, as well, but it is, and now so are you.
I am already irrational and hormonal and would very much like to smack something. You are only making it worse. Thus, you might be the one to get smacked, and there's only a 50 percent chance I'll be sorry about it.
If I’m even having this conversation with you, then I obviously like you, for some reason. You’re a good guy and probably mean well, but this is not your area of expertise. So my dear, please, take a seat.
It is not your job to dislike my period. Unless you’re just whining about not getting laid, then there are no thanks (or sexual activities) coming your way. The thing is, I have enough hatred for my pain to fuel 17 dozen gas-guzzling SUVs.
I’ve been doing this since I was 14. I’ve lost so much blood that I might as well be a miracle. Yes, I said it: Menstruating women are damn miracles. The bottom line is, I’m in pain when I’m not pregnant, and I’ll be in pain when I am.
I can’t handle your complaints, so if you don’t mind, I’m going to give you a different job. Your job is to adore my period.
Cheer it on; hope for it; do a rain dance every night until it gets here because if it never comes, I’m either the next immaculate conception or this kid is going to have your nose. Neither of those things seem very appealing to me.
Once you have willed my body to not be pregnant using your manly ways, I will proceed to hate everything until this time of the month has once again come and gone. You will not mention anything about pain until that time comes. You will especially not say that you hate my period because you don’t -- I do.
Please plan accordingly.
A Woman of the World
PS: If you don’t mention my period at all in the first place, I’ll probably still get mad at you. I’m a hormonal hypocrite. So really, you might just want to give me your Netflix password to use and call it a day. Sorry in advance, and thanks for still liking me.
Photo Courtesy: We Heart It