Dear whoever actually reads this and by some miracle might be of the male persuasion. I’m about to talk about periods. Consider yourself warned.

I LOVE being female. For many reasons. Except this whole period thing.

I woke up at 7:50 am today because the hellfire in my uterus was soooooo intense it woke me from a deep sleep.

I would like to take this time to tell you all that I recently slept through every smoke detector in my house going off. ALL 8 OF THEM.

So I think you can imagine how painful this was.

But in case you can’t here’s a fun descriptive image: It felt like someone was tightening a vice around my lower abdomen while simultaneously kicking me in the lower back with a steel toe boot that happened to be on fire.

Tra la la I enjoyyyyyy being a girl! (thats a song from the musical The Flower Drum Song, which I did my first tap dance to at age 7 in a giant hot pink dress with a floppy hat and a white feather boa. Yes. It was just as adorable as it sounds and we won a gold medal.)

So I lay there and I contemplated my fate. The pain was so bad I couldn’t imagine doing anything other than what I was, writhing around in my bed in pain, let alone standing up to shove 6 motrin down my throat and warming the heating pad in the microwave.

I knew that in order to have any hope of feeling better I needed to get my ass out of bed and do it. And somehow I managed, whimpering, to do it.

And as I lay on the floor in front of the microwave, feeling like I might die any second, I thought about tiny adorable babies. And how I had better be able to have one for all this damn trouble.

I also thought how nice it would be to have a butler to heat the damn thing for me.

Because my kitchen floor is DISGUSTING to lay on.

Oh! Did I mention I then had to lay on the heating pad when it is about 90 degrees and atrociously humid here?

Needless to say I’m not holding out a lot of hope for today.