You couldn’t have picked a better time. Really? My birthday? I guess it’s partly my fault, but it’s not like you haven’t done this before – the day before Ladies Weekend ’06, at the water park, that first date? Granted there wasn’t going to be a second but I couldn’t finish my drink because my “aunt called and said it’s urgent."
You show up at such clumsily picked moments.
That’s why I’m skipping you next month. The commercials told me I could.
But I don’t want to seem ungrateful. I remember longing for you – 11, 12, 13 years old – you couldn’t come fast enough. You see, I wanted to be a woman. All my friends had their periods and it seemed like I was the only one who didn’t. When you finally came (another inopportune time – days before my eighth grade graduation for which I had to wear a white dress) I was overjoyed and relieved. I finally felt normal.
So, I do appreciate you. Because of you, I can give life. Because of you, my mother gave me life. We all live because of you. Just know that when I’m blue with cramps and unbelievable bloating I remember this quote from Estelle Ramey: “In man, the shedding of blood is always associated with injury, disease, or death. Only the female half of humanity was seen to have the magical ability to bleed profusely and still rise phoenix-like each month from the gore.”
I’ll see you real soon.