Kenyan Ramblings

• PMS Blues

  Posted: September 2, 2008, 5:54 am by Tafsiri Hii

  
  Am lying, frozen in bed. I. Cant. Move. Torturous pain....
  
  He comes home, gives me a perfunctory kiss, sits to read the paper then realizes that am in bed wearing a strange expression.
  Everything ok, he asks.
  NO! Cccc....cramps, I manage to get the words out.
  Oh, it's that time of the month! He observes. Anything I can do, asks he. Sweet man.
  Yes, a towel soaked in very hot water will help ease the pain.
  Ok, he says....and then goes back to the paper.
  Tic, toc. Tic, toc. Minutes go by. Nothing! The longer he looks at the damned paper, the more agitated I get. The more agitated I get, the worse the pain. The more the pain, the blacker my mood. After about 5 long agonizing minutes, I can't take it any more. Involuntarily, I jump out of bed and let out a loud scream: actually, what comes out is a sound that is a cross between a lion's roar and the screech of a hyena. I clench and unclench my hands, and grit my teeth. Am beginning to look more and more like a lion...or a hyena. He looks up, surprised.
  What's wrong, honey? The poor sweet ignorant man asks.
  
  What's wrong?! WHAT IS WRONG? A million wicked mini-devils are inside my womb: poking one side with their red-hot forks, and biting and tearing the other side into tiny bite size pieces. Their cousins are slowly working on my lower back. I was perfectly fine, suffering my torment silently...until you came home and offered to assist! Why you would offer to help me and then sit there reading your paper is beyond me!
  
  His cheek looks like a good place for my palm to land and my teeth are itching to do a Mike Tyson on him...Murderous thoughts. People have killed for lesser things.
  
  
  
  Before I do something I might regret, I stalk out and use my own two hands to get my self-sufficient self a towel soaked in steaming water to place on my tortured womb......
  
  For those who do not know what am going on about, or for those men who do not understand why their women turn into pit bulls once a month, listen to Angie Stone's "It's the time of the month" or to these words by Dolly Parton.
  
  Even better, how about this hilarious letter written by blogger Wendi Aarons to Proctor and Gamble's Brand Manager:
  
  

  Dear Mr. Thatcher,

  I have been a loyal user of your Always maxi pads for over 20 years, and I appreciate many of their features. Why, without the LeakGuard Core™ or Dri-Weave™ absorbency, I'd probably never go horseback riding or salsa dancing, and I'd certainly steer clear of running up and down the beach in tight, white shorts. But my favorite feature has to be your revolutionary Flexi-Wings. Kudos on being the only company smart enough to realize how crucial it is that maxi pads be aerodynamic. I can't tell you how safe and secure I feel each month knowing there's a little F-16 in my pants.

  Have you ever had a menstrual period, Mr. Thatcher? Ever suffered from "the curse"? I'm guessing you haven't. Well, my "time of the month" is starting right now. As I type, I can already feel hormonal forces violently surging through my body. Just a few minutes from now, my body will adjust and I'll be transformed into what my husband likes to call "an inbred hillbilly with knife skills." Isn't the human body amazing?

  As brand manager in the feminine-hygiene division, you've no doubt seen quite a bit of research on what exactly happens during your customers' monthly visits from Aunt Flo. Therefore, you must know about the bloating, puffiness, and cramping we endure, and about our intense mood swings, crying jags, and out-of-control behavior. You surely realize it's a tough time for most women. In fact, only last week, my friend Jennifer fought the violent urge to shove her boyfriend's testicles into a George Foreman Grill just because he told her he thought Grey's Anatomy was written by drunken chimps. Crazy! The point is, sir, you of all people must realize that America is just crawling with homicidal maniacs in capri pants. Which brings me to the reason for my letter.

  Last month, while in the throes of cramping so painful I wanted to reach inside my body and yank out my uterus, I opened an Always maxi pad, and there, printed on the adhesive backing, were these words: "Have a Happy Period."

  Are you fucking kidding me?

  What I mean is, does any part of your tiny middle-manager brain really think happiness—actual smiling, laughing happiness—is possible during a menstrual period? Did anything mentioned above sound the least bit pleasurable? Well, did it, James? FYI, unless you're some kind of sick S&M freak girl, there will never be anything "happy" about a day in which you have to jack yourself up on Motrin and Kahlúa and lock yourself in your house just so you don't march down to the local Walgreens armed with a hunting rifle and a sketchy plan to end your life in a blaze of glory. For the love of God, pull your head out, man. If you just have to slap a moronic message on a maxi pad, wouldn't it make more sense to say something that's actually pertinent, like "Put Down the Hammer" or "Vehicular Manslaughter Is Wrong"? Or are you just picking on us?

  Sir, please inform your accounting department that, effective immediately, there will be an $8 drop in monthly profits, for I have chosen to take my maxi-pad business elsewhere. And though I will certainly miss your Flexi-Wings, I will not for one minute miss your brand of condescending bullshit. And that's a promise I will keep. Always.

  Best,

  Wendi Aarons
  Austin, TX

Blah blah blah

Fish cakes

Alas a fish cake.

Yet more fish cakes

Guess what ... yeah ... fish cakes.

The end of the fish cakes