Musings
Monday, August 16, 2004
Sometimes, it really sucks to be a woman.
How would you feel if you knew that every 28 days, like clockwork, you were going to come down with a case of the flu?
Yes, it's "that" time. That time that makes all women such joy to be around. Seriously, though, can you blame us?
After all, it isn't easy to go to work and carry on conversation with a smile, all while feeling as if an angry drill-headed creature is trying intently to bore its way out of one's uterus. Nature surely must think Herself clever to have given women a more-persistent-than-usual urge to visit the restroom at the very time each month when passing shards of glass would surely be less painful. How am I supposed to make important decisions requiring rational, coherent thought when my entire body and psyche screams at me to go curl up in bed and moan? If 3 ibuprofen at once can only make me feel marginally tolerable, then how is that NOT an illness?
Yes, I've heard the whole "beauty of giving life" speech a thousand times over. Being a woman is wonderful, yadda yadda yadda. Frankly, at times like these, being a woman stinks. I don't want to have to deal with losing enough blood to warrant a transfusion in a healthy person, and feeling as if I've swallowed an entire canister of that CO2 that is used to put the bubbles in fountain soda. I'm tired of the 4-day headache. I'm sick of feeling as if I want to alternately cry, snap someone's head off, and eat a pound of chocolate.
I think women should be given a mandatory week off during their menses. That's right...break out the Red Tent and put me in it. The thought of being shut off from society for 7 days, eating figs and nuts, and having the younger girls wait on me hand and foot is a pleasant one. Screw feminism...I want to rest.
