Body Appreciation Sunday: My period and me

So I read this and lol'd my fucking head off. Then I started crying, because it was so true, man. And then I thought, Well, what does MY period like to do when it decides to come visit? Because that's what periods are: your sometimes-funny, sometimes-scary, usually-mean older sister who drops in unexpectedly, for unspecified amounts of time, and makes you do things you thought you had gotten past, but who you are always SO GLAD TO SEE.

My period likes sushi. This is bizarre, because I HATE SUSHI. I really do not like sushi. But my mafriend has learned that if he wants sushi for dinner, the only time I'll be like, Yeah we should do that, is when my period has taken over my stomach. Go figure. So we go for sushi, and then since Manfriend's in a pleasant mood because he's FINALLY getting to eat a meal he loves with the woman he loves (note: this is comedic hyperbole, I'm not picky at all. Except for sushi. USUALLY), my period says, Manfriend we must watch Moulin Rouge! when we get home. And you can't say a damn word when I quote every line from every character, sing along to all the songs, including humming on "Nature Boy", and then projectile-weep during the final scenes.

Manfriend is a canny fellow. He is not quite helpless in the face of my period. He is also not afraid of my actual older sister (I am. She's fucking terrifying). So we watch Moulin Rouge! and then my period demands Reese's Pieces. At this point Manfriend says, I think I'm going to play DragonQuest...do you want to play? He knows that even were my period NOT in charge, I would say no, because my video game skills wallow in dreckitude; he also knows that my period and I need some alone time. Period shrieks, Are you KIDDING I am going to Target. To try on shoes that I will carry around the store and then not buy. And to buy Reese's Pieces because you have declined to get them for me.

So we go to Target. And then to the Payless which is so handily located next door, where my period steals my debit card to buy a pair of black patent leather high heels. You want to be a sexy librarian, don't you, Diana? Come on! These are so hot. And then to the coffeehouse/bookstore down the street, because my period thinks that tea will make it feel better, which never actually works, not even that goddamn raspberry leaf tea that every midwife will tell you is AWESOME for lady issues, but more importantly, the coffeehouse/bookstore down the street has matcha cookies, vegan peanut butter cookies, and double-fudge brownies. My period orders that I fork over for one of each. Ok, two brownies, because the Reese's Pieces didn't cut it. Then my period leads me through the labyrinth of used books, stopping to pore over tattered copies of books about "the real King Arthur", smelly copies of The Writing Life, and my period says, You never got around to writing that reworking of the Arthurian saga. Don't you think you owe it to Granny to write that?* You hardly ever write anymore. You should write more. And I buy the smelly copy of The Writing Life, even though I have about eight similar books at home, and feel terrible about my lack of creative impetus.

On the way home from the coffeehouse/bookstore, my period exerts its magical will on my car's CD player, forcing it to skip to all the romantic tracks on whatever Glee album happens to be in the disc drive. I muster up the will to replace the disc with a Lacuna Coil CD, but end up crying for no reason anyway. Once home, my period compliments me on my jaunty choice of cloth pad (green with a peacock feather design) and deigns to allow me to go to sleep, exhausted, crampy, and tear-stained.

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So there's that. That's what USUALLY happens. That's what SHOULD happen. But then there are those months when your period decides she hates me and doesn't feel like visiting, and then I spend ten bucks on pregnancy tests, all of which come up negative, but I am convinced that they're faulty, so I buy four more--still negative--but I've got to be knocked up, I've just got to be, otherwise wouldn't my period come to hang out? She just hates fetuses. Like I do. It's the one thing we have in common, besides a love for Reese's Pieces and Ewan McGregor. I resist the urge to eat an entire bottle of Vitamin C supplements in an attempt to induce my estranged period to show up, crying aimlessly. They're going to create a totally new reality show JUST FOR ME, akin to I Never Knew I Was Pregnant but WORSE, because of all the negative pregnancy tests. They'll call it When First Response Lies and my high school classmates, the ones who never left Merritt Island because they were potheads/slackers/utter dumbasses/too rich to function, will see me on Lifetime or whatever fucking network they air those shows on and laugh their heads off. Still the same awkward, weird Diana! they will crow. That's if they even remember me. Fucking period, why couldn't you just show up? I never care about high school, never even think about it, except when my period hasn't arrived.

Is it too obvious that the TARDIS has not become a paradox machine this month?

*my Granny gave me my copy of The Once and Future King and tipped off a lifetime of obsession with King Arthur stories