I saw a meme the other day that said there should be treats for women in boxes of sanitary napkins and tampons. Fuck yeah, I thought. Why hasn’t anyone done this? They would be so rich.
I mean, wouldn’t we all pick the brand that doled out bags of chocolate, Cheetos, and a cheery note? Of course, we would. Because a bonus bar of chocolate in a box of crotch swabs would go a long way in making up for the bullshit we have to endure once a month.
But, ladies, don’t forget: We can buy these treats for ourselves when we have PMS. And we damn well should. Because if our favorite pants don’t fit, and every noise makes our hair hurt while we have blood pouring out of our vaginas, you can bet your ass we should be treating ourselves. We fucking deserve it.
Not only are we shedding blood from our special opening for anywhere from three to seven days, carrying around extra water weight, breaking out in pimples, people also have the nerve to say things like, “She must be PMSing so hard.” Step off, dude. STEP OFF. Or I’ll break you in half, asshole.
Damn right, I’m PMSing hard. You think these uterine contractions feel like an orgasm? Fuck off, and stay out of the way while I go buy myself some Doritos and then dip my toe in Target to get a new skirt with pockets or a scented candle to ease the fact that I’ve felt like a shit stain for a week and there is absolutely nothing I can do about it.
PMS is no joke, and the struggle is real. I literally cannot concentrate on anything. I start putting away the dishes, then try to wipe down the counters for exactly two seconds before I remember I need to clean out the pantry. I see some apples that are too old to eat, but might make a nice apple pie filling so I start peeling away on my freshly cleaned counter before I decide there is no way in hell I can make a pie right now because I have too much important stuff to do.
I look around at the chaos I’ve created and get even more overwhelmed. Then I walk away and start making a mess in the next room because, when Aunt Flo visits, I feel like fucking things up is the only thing I get right. Well, that and consume an entire a tub of chocolate peanut butter ice cream over the sink in under five minutes. Yes, I can do that like it’s my job.
I am not alone in this, and there is a reason it’s hard not to feel like your brain has left your body during that time of the month. Your cycle actually fucks with your neurotransmitters and makes it hard for you to focus on anything other than binge-watching HGTV with a heating pad.
So every month we are faced with the fact we can’t wear anything without an elastic waistband, and we eat like there is no tomorrow. Finishing the tiniest of chores feels like climbing Mount Everest, and we hate everyone. Everyone — including ourselves.
And amidst the fresh hell that is our period, we need to deal with changing sanitary napkins and tampons while we are trying to take care of all our regular business lest it looks like a murder happened between our legs.
So the next time you are suffering from this monthly fuckery we endure simply for being the beautiful women that we are, go easy on yourself. Ignore that nasty voice in your head, try not to take on big projects, and give yourself a pass on helping the kids with their homework. But most importantly, go get yourself a fucking treat.
Actually, make it two. You totally deserve it.