There is a day I hate more than any other day ever. It doesn’t occur often, but regularly enough to be a normal occurrence.
I call this day, ‘Bonus Day.’
Now generally the idea of a bonus is a good thing: it’s something special and extra than what you had intended, and you receive it with joy.
This is not the case.
Bonus Day is also sometimes known as something a little extra for broken up couples. A moment of poor judgement where they can exchange body fluids once again and then remember all the reasons why they loved, or hated each other.
This is also not that.
Though body fluids are involved.
And boys, this is the part of the discussion that you don’t want to read ok? I’ll just wait for you to click away.
I’m talking about periods.
Let me paint you a picture (not in red.)
You’re a woman. As such you know that there are several perks you can enjoy (such as wearing dresses and multiple orgasms), but also several disadvantages like boobs that get in the way, or the fact that you will probably be the only person in your house to pick up the towels.
And then, there are periods.
3-6 Days in the middle of the month where you will be racked with cramps, tired and emotional, and devoid of chocolate. Because there is never any chocolate when you really need it.
This is after the week or two before hand, when you’re cranky about everything (including those towels on the floor that no one will pick up), your boobs (which are in the way) are sore and tender, and all your friends are feeling exactly the same, and thus you are all ticking each other off.
In fact all you can look forward to is about 4-7 days sometimes after, where all is right with the world, you don’t have any zits, and you’re not feeling like a giant lard butt. But you may have thrush. Cause if you live in the tropics and you’re forced to wear a plastic liner in your knickers for the better part of the week, you’re gonna get an itchy vag. It’s just what happens.
Occasionally, very rarely, a miracle occurs.
A shorter cycle.
For whatever reason your hormones smile favourably upon you that month, and you get away with less bleeding, less cramps and less opportunity for bugs to grow in your underpants.
It’s nothing short of bliss.
And then comes Bonus Day.
It always happens when you least expect it; you’ve been monitoring the flow and its non-existent. You’re past the point where you think you should be prepared just in case, and you’re considering how your life will improve. Thinking of white shorts, swims in the ocean, pretty looking panties, and even a little bit of the horizontal mumbo (or is it tango?). Life is feeling good, the urge to devour everything cocoa flavoured has dissipated somewhat (you are still a person after all), and your skin looks amazing.
Until it hits.
The day when you’re whole body conspires against you in a horrid cosmic joke and yells ‘tricked ya!’ Before you know it you’re soaking items in nappy san, nursing that hot water bottle, and wondering who the hell ate all the chocolate!
How I hate thee.