“Woman Can Always Tell Period Coming By Way Doors Slam Shut, Lights Flicker” — The Onion, 22/7/21
If my life were a reality TV show, I would officially be in that crazy-celebrity-during-pandemic phase. My flatmates watched Hereditary and all I could think about, as I layed on our luxurious student flat L-shaped couch, was how great it’d be if Elon Musk could make some technological system where I could digitally upload my uterus online. Although I don’t identify as a woman, I’m still blessed/burdened with the cosmic abilities to predict the weather based on “that time of month”. And needless to say, I will be oversharing.
For those of you who do not turn into a werewolf at every full moon or are God’s favourite and have a 5 day (or less) cycle, let me tell you a bit about the barometer in my belly. It’s pretty hard to distinguish if my hysterical crying sessions are due to my period because I’m normally sobbing 6 days a week. However, if I’m passing out, craving a pot load of pasta, or about to smother my darling boyfriend in his sleep—that’s a pretty tell tale sign that the eighth layer of hell is about to open. Normally, it’s when I have absolutely no sanitary products on me and I’m wearing white that I begin to feel that looming paranoia of the apocalypse. It also doesn’t help that my joints ache like Sophie from Howl’s Moving Castle and I have just conveniently consumed the last remnants of chocolate in my flat.
You’d think after 108 or so periods I’d get my shit together, but nope. The three days of healthy vaginal discharge did not come with a weekly plan. Every 70 days or so, I update my Flo or Clue app. But like every other person with a life, I let that pink app just take up storage on my phone. Not to mention how do I even start to input things like a UTI, chronic fatigue, the worst IUD cramps (thanks Jaydess) and a really weird sex position as reasons for why we’re going off script. IDK about you guys but that Year 10 puberty video did not mention that this was something I’d have to deal with.
Am I mad that I had to spend a couple of hours freaking out with WebMD open when I got that yeast infection a couple of years ago? You bet I am. Thanks Euphoria for showing penises in mainstream media, but when are we going to start talking about the daily shit (literally). Cranberry juice does nothing for a UTI and period blood is not blue like how sanitary ads show it. I do not have shaved kitty bitties when my period is coming and I most definitely do not have the energy to do early morning basketball. I’m looking at you, U by Kotex Sports Edition.
The real horror of period woes isn’t even the physical side. It’s the social and emotional side. Sorry to my ex about that time I didn’t sleep with you because I was self conscious about my ingrown hairs. Sorry to myself for that time someone couldn’t go down on me because I was still spotting. Sorry to all the kids growing up now who feel like clean shaven is the norm when they see smooth coochies in porn. Sex ed is not just about how to feel good (although tbh we fail in even teaching that). Sex ed is about all the embarassing things like queefs and post-sex clean up and cottage cheese discharge too.
Donkey’s conclusion: queef is just one letter away from queen!
One of the many great qualities about The Onion is that it accurately captures the nuances of having a uterus. As a fellow womb owner, I can always tell that time of the month is coming by the following symptoms. An unexplainable and incessant need to vacuum whole pickles out of the jar before rubbing the leftover juice all over my face. Raging mood swings where one minute I’m yodelling and swinging my cowboy hat around with joy, to hysterically sobbing out my prescription contacts the next. Oh, and can’t forget about the violent urge to partake in wild hunting sprees where I rip off the testicles of any man I encounter while prowling the streets!
Menstruation’s elicitation of paranormal reactions from uterus possessors undoubtedly makes our cycle a very frightening 5 (or so) days for men. Yes, men may have initiated every single instance of global conflict throughout human history, but it’s us emotional and irrational coochie-possessors who truly sustain the anarchy and suffering of the world. So, the next time blood is oozing out of your vagina, consider the fragile feelings of these angelic beings who have to put up with a full week of ‘blue balls’ and a lack of home-made sandwiches, ego-stroking and free emotional labour.
Unfortunately, menstruation is just the tip of the iceberg. We also have to acknowledge the deception surrounding periods and vaginas that men are subjected to. Imagine the sheer betrayal they must experience when they find out that period blood is not a pretty baby blue but instead varying shades of ugly red and brown! That’s not even taking into account the varying textures of our little blood clot friends that swim out in the scarlet flood that flows from between our legs. Honestly, paying tax on sanitary products is the bare minimum compensation we can give men as reparations for this grotesque bodily process.
What’s devastating is that no activist organisation is spreading awareness about the fraudulent behaviour of vaginas—a pressing issue that creates long-term and often irreversible damage to the male psyche. It’s heartbreaking that when we’re not leaking with blobby blood, we’re secreting milky white coloured discharge. We really just can’t help but ruin everything—from our panties, to the wellbeing of society’s backbones.
And our coochies have the audacity not to smell like bouquets of roses or punnets of fresh strawberries? It’s time to petition for legislation that makes bottles of FemFresh mandatory for all uterus owners. While our crimes against humanity are countless, this is a small step we can take to begin righting our many wrongs.
Puss(y) in Boots’ conclusion: If no one is going to stand up for the injustices committed by vaginas, I will.