Your Body

Of Course The World Would Be A Better Place If I Didn’t Get My Period

By January 4, 2016 0
Phot Credit: Your mama
Phot Credit: Your mama

I’m all for feminism.

I think it’s super dope that people want men and women to be equivalents, and from a social standpoint, I couldn’t agree more. Of course women should be paid the same wages as men. Of course pregnancy shouldn’t be seen as “problematic” within the the workspace, and of course it should never be on any man’s political agenda, to discuss the status of my genitilia and/or reproductive rights.

Of course.

I don’t refer to myself as a feminist. That’s strictly due to the fact that I had a whack job of a feminism101 professor in college, who scarred me into an understanding of what makes some people shudder when you declare, “I’m a feminist”. This professor just wanted to impart the off-colored sentiment that anything (really, insert:anything) that upsets you, you can easily reduce to the fault of a man.

Headache? Men control the Tylenol industry.

Have a potty mouth? That’s because men make you angry.

Eating disorder? It’s the men that tell us we have to be skinny.

The slope got a little too slippery for me, and so I resolved that I could back ideas that I believed in without branding myself as a feminist because, to be honest– brands are for cattle anyway. Also, because I am writing this very here article, which self-proclaimed feminists from around the world are going to kill me over.

Here we go:

I can do absolutely anything that a man can do, always. Except when I’m on my period.

“BOOOOO!! Shut up Candace! Periods don’t make us weaker. All those jokes about PMS’ing are misogynistic.”

Sorry ladies, I’m going to have to sit this picket-sign sesh out, because I’m pretty sure those jokes were specifically written about me.

On the day leading up to my period, there are exactly three people that I want to punch straight in the fucking face. Who, you ask?  That answer is ever-shifting– because it’s the first three people that happen to contact me.

It could be my dear old grandfather, who wants to FaceTime and tell me he loves me.

Why the f*** does a 70-plus year old know how to use this phone app?!

It could be my sweet intern, with a reminder that I have a call at 3.

Reminder back at ya:  you’re fired, bitch.

It could be my adorable, sweet, gentle cat, meowing because I forgot to feed her and she’s helpless to feed herself.

Your life could be worse, honey bun. I rescued you from a kill shop. Remember? 

I’m not rationale. I’m not kind. And I’m least of all… happy.

Can’t put my finger on why, but it might have something to do with the Karate Kid sequel being filmed upon my ovaries. Perhaps the hormones that are playing baseball around my fallopian tubes? No, I just CANNOT seem to figure out why I’m so not in the mood to deal with anyone or anything at all.

And don’t you dare fucking tell me to calm down. I’ll fucking kill you all, and when Hillary Clinton becomes president, she’ll grant me pardon, you assholes.

Listen up, feminists: You can jump up on any stage you want, or picket the white house for equality, but when it comes to my time of the month, I’d rather bask in the consequence of my inequality. I most certainly am not equal to the guy who literally has to deal with nothing ever, and therefore, I’ll take a two day per a month PAID leave of absence, thank you, while I sort through my #crazy, #girlieprobz.

Yup. An extra 24 days off per annum sounds plenty equal to me, while I take time to remind myself that assassinating my grandfather and cat, is not a viable option.

Of course the world would be a better place if I didn’t get my period!!! 

I fucking hate feminism for the sake of feminism. I don’t just want equality with men, I want equality plus special treatment. Pregnant? I get whatever I want, because guess what? I’m growing a HUMAN inside of me. It’s a fucking MIRACLE. A god damned fucking MIRACLE. Parting the Red Sea was less of a feat, MOSES. I don’t want 3 months paid leave. I want all nine of them– while i create the fucking miracle of life inside of my beautiful vessel of a body. That same miracle and vessel that brought all of you ignorant little fucks into the world.

Don’t you downplay my universal magic. I AM A UNIVERSAL MAGICIAN!!!! Can I put that down on my resume?

FUUUCKKKKKK YOU.

So seriously, the next time I tell you I have my period, please understand that I am being radicalized by mother nature, and if I could just be left alone to be a person and not have to face any arbitrary, internal systematic consequence– like a debit against my “sick days”…

…nobody has to die.

P.S. If i see another Kotex/Tampon commercial with a woman doing yoga, a cartwheel, toe-touch, (really anything that requires even moderate flexiblility), I’m taking hostages.

 

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