This is nothing you want to subject yourself too, O Blog of My Confessions–but if you’re female and feel the need to cringe in sympathy, continue on at will.
The rest of you, you were warned.
And a period.
I am considering amputating at the waist.
It’s like three of the four horseman of a small and personalized apocalypse in my pants. And Lo! The angel broke the third seal, and I beheld a rider on a red horse, and he spoke in a voice like cramping, saying “There shall be no pads in the house, nor shall there be any tampons, nor Motrin, even unto the end of the world.” And the scarlet rider took his place beside his fellows, the brown rider and the itchy and inflamed rider, and there was much wailing and gnashing of teeth among the peoples of the world.*
I can only hope and pray that the fourth horseman–Bladder Infection, who presumably rides a dark ochre horse and is not invited to many parties–does not get the memo and come cantering up. That would probably lead to suicide. I am a strong person, I can survive many traumas, but some things are beyond human endurance.
Thank you. I just had to complain about that for a bit.
*Or at least one of ’em.