Every twenty-eight days, I curse Eve from the bottom of my soul. “I hope that freaking apple was delicious, you selfish jerk!” is about the nicest thing that comes out of my mouth. While menstruation has become everything from an art medium to a convenient excuse for men to write off the “misbehavior” of women, it’s still a subject that tends to skeeve people out.
And I’m one of them. It’s bad enough to have horrible cramps (abdomen, back, and legs), stained underwear, violent diarrhea at the onset, bloating, a headache that lasts throughout, the inconvenience of sanitary napkins and tampons (I am seriously looking into the diva cup), the impact on your sex life (I had a memorable and utterly humiliating experience once where my period was done … but then somehow restarted again while in a compromising position—I don’t think I’ve ever been more embarrassed in my life), being aware of the smell, food cravings, and I could go on but I’m sure you get the point.