Dear Facebook Commenter,
I read your words a few weeks ago on my page. Remember when you commented on my post about taxing tampons and pads and women’s underwear? You said, “I’m so happy I don’t have to listen to my ex-wife talk about her periods and leaky stuff anymore.” I was like, oh my god, how horrible for this guy to have to hear about my problems on Facebook after a divorce. Well, I’m writing you a private message today because I just keep thinking about you. A lot. I mean dang, I am so sorry I brought up Aunt Flow. It sounds like it was a trigger for you.
In fact, I thought about you yesterday when I was at this fancy work event in my 4 inch Louboutin heels and lipstick. I wore my expensive bra too, the one that keeps me from breathing but is so worth it because when work requires “fancy,” it’s time to bring the girls out! And I think a couple of your buddies were at this event. Weren’t they? Aren’t Phil and Tom our mutual friends? Middle aged, comb overs, Phil looks like maybe too much scotch on weeknights, Tom kinda looks 30 weeks prego with twins. No? You sure? I swear that’s why I agreed to Friend you last year after that convention in Las Vegas with the girls giving out free body shots as a promotion for Prospect Mortgage.
But anyway, I thought about you at this work thingy because your buddies, Tom and Phil, they were knee deep in conversation when I tried to hand them my business card while also micro hemorrhaging. We were all standing next to the latte machine. That’s what they were serving at this meet and greet. Lattes and bagels with smears. I never got a bagel because I had to keep running to the ladies room to change my plug. I was so worried about annoying Phil and Tom with a bloody crotch, I ended up just leaving early because I also ran out of super plus plus tampons and my pantyliner was soaked. I mean I should have known. It was my second day and that’s hemorrhage day. We all know this. When us ladies do what you do at work while attempting to catch a quart of blood onto a thumb size piece of cotton shoved deep into our cavernous vaginas. I mean what would happen if I leaked? Poor Phil and Tom didn’t need to see any of that. Plus, they seemed pretty busy, in no need of stupid distractions. I mean they were talking about really important stuff like this weeks news about AICs 80% investment portfolio at 6.5%.
And then when I got home from work, I thought about you again when I sat on the toilet because blood and clots were pouring out of my lady bits. Pouring. Like you could hear them plopping into the toilet. Of course, right after that happened, I blacked out and hit my head on the tiled wall next to me. Oops. Well, let me tell you, that doesn’t happen very often these days because whew, can I get a hallelujah for progesterone patches? Right?
I’m just saying, I totally get it. How annoying would that have been to find your wife laying on the bathroom floor bleeding out of her nether regions with walnut sized clots hanging off her carefully trimmed pubes. Seriously, walnut sized! To think she talked to you about that stuff. Ugh, what a hag.
And then last night, again, I felt so bad for you and really guys in general. Here it was, the middle of the night and my poor husband had to sleep next to me while I night sweated and bled all over our mattress. Right? I mean that’s what you’re talking about. My husband had to try to sleep while I changed my clothes and harpoon at least three times. Poor guy.
So here I am today at work, a little bit woozy and definitely in need of a steak but concerned that I might have upset you a couple of weeks ago. I think I was insensitive to your needs, and I bet other men could relate to how awful it is to listen to all of our whining about migraines and cramps and chocolate. I mean, really, who needs to hangout with an anemic space alien? I know the answer… nobody. Right?
I feel as though I should thank you today. Now that I can see all of this clearer from your insightful comment on my post. So, on behalf of your ex-wife and women in general, thank you, for putting up with all of this menstrual/estrogen/progesterone bleeding cooter talk women overshare with men folk. I’m sure it’s been a difficult time and I personally wouldn’t want to make things more complicated for you. So thanks for stopping by my Facebook post and showing your support. I really am sorry I triggered some bad memories for you.
Diana Kirk is the author of Licking Flames: Tales of a Half-Assed Hussy by Black Bomb Books. She’s previously been published in Thought Catalog, Yellow Mama Nailed and Literary Kitchen. While not writing, she wears pajamas in bed and trades real estate or plans her family’s next adventures requiring a passport and anti fungal cream. You can find her on Twitter @dianakirk or www.dianakirk.wordpress.com