What I Hate About Menstruating
Part N of an infinite series.
So you know how it is: you go to the bathroom, and you’re about to stand up when you notice the thick strand of goo that connects your vagina to the toilet water. If you get up with it just hanging there like that, what are the chances of smearing blood all over your thighs, hands, and pants? Pretty good, in my experience, and that’s not even counting civilian casualties like the toilet seat.
But you caught it in time! You’re prepared! You can do a little wiggly dance! Not that wiggly dances have ever, in the whole history of human menstrual cycles, done anything to dislodge a rope of uterine lining. If we had only wiggly dances to rely on, we would still be in the menstrual hut drawing little swirly designs on the ground with our week’s worth of continuous flow.
No, modern women are called upon to perform deft maneuvers with a piece of toilet paper, which are, when successful, displays of dexterity and cunning that really ought to be celebrated with festivals and Olympic medals and a place on ESPN2, but alas! are doomed to perpetual obscurity. Stupid Puritans.