Thursday, January 28, 2010

Something safe for the pictureframe?

Well isn't that just completely ironic? Start talking about Little Red Riding Hood, which actually is not in its original form a cautionary tale about sexuality, and I start my menses and probably ruin a pair of good pants. Well maybe they weren't that good but still.

I always preach the beauty of womanhood. It's mythology and differences. I accept and love my monthlies, signs to me of health and fertility. I really do love everthing about being female. Maybe that's because, awkward and awful as I was/am, I was raised to have strong well, to be headstrong. And it has made me more or less comfortable in my own skin and with who I am/was at different stages in my life.

But I escaped puberty mostly physically unscathed, awkward, but unscathed. None of the horrific acne from my father's side. None of the taunting of boys. I just wasn't that concerned or ready until much later. I had started my period and adolescence physically much earlier, years earlier, than everyone I knew so I guess I was used to it. Awkward at it, but used to it.

I never stained my pants. Now simple and, no duh, as that may seem, it is actually a pretty big deal in girldom to have escaped Junior High and High School without having ever leaked your period
bad enough to stain your pants. I have very vivid memories of the girl walking down the hall in the white shorts with the bright red stain. Mortifying for everyone involved on so many levels.

I never stained my pants until today.

I have sat and listened to the men who have come and gone and stayed in my laugh laugh riotously about sleepwalk peeing, pissing themselves when passed out, shitting themselves, shit shit and piss. And they are very funny stores told over drinks in dives and swanky places like The Capital Hotel (thanks Jake and then Hank for that one). So I guess that's the equivilent?

And you know big fucking deal, right? I am stanly built and I get it. Not life ending. Gross but not life ending. And really more annoying than gross. And definitely not life ending.

But there are some times when you feel the
Most Safe, confident in your woman's skin, and it all comes tumbling down. Worth, esteem, desirability, all because you couldn't stay stuffed. Patched up. Plugged. Sucks to be you, huh?

And by you, I ofcourse, mean me.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

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