I am a very empathetic person on PMS. I have endured some terrifying attacks where I have done and said some morbid things. I cannot understand how all sanity returns to earth the moment I notice blood on my underpants. In between, I’d stopped wearing underwear altogether, you know. No, I don’t mean ‘in between’ as in the location of where underpants are usually worn – just in case you think I started wearing them on my head. I mean, at a certain point in my life (past tense) I had done such and such a thing.

I dislike bras. But I have to wear bras or else I’d have my boobs banging at my knees and that can get painful especially when I have PMS and the damned things are sore as hell. But since I’m not one of those women who actually keep track of their menstrual dates I didn’t want to end up at work with red-splotched pants. Even the fabulous liar that I am couldn’t get away with one for that.

Another thing is that my periods don’t just dribble, they SPLOTCH! There is even a noise that happens. I can’t send you how it sounds since I’m writing, but if that sound had a shape, it would be like a big fat farty looking squiggle.

There are times when I have splotched and complained copiously to seated close-by male friends who then casually remark (like they’ve been having periods all their lives, right, so no wonder they know everything) why can’t I “just keep track of my dates?” Mistake. Now they’ve had it. I start by telling them that after you’ve been bleeding from between your legs for over 15 years it’s not that great a surprise anymore, you know. And look, it’s not like women go into shock and yell, “call the fucking paramedics, there’s some red on my bottom and I’m bleeding to death”.

While on the topic, I also make it a point to tell them that I didn’t need my diary to with red-encircled dates to remind me I was ‘due’. Like some fucking term paper. Oh and yeah, the women who do that are anal anyway. Never mind that I have splotchy pants. What’s it to you? Do YOU do my laundry?

Bitch.