I was going to write a seriously ranty blog entry about the joys of being a woman and waking up at 5am to discover that you've got your dates muddled up and need to track down tampax in the dark of pre dawn, cursing and swearing all the while at life in general. I lay in bed and considered the euphemisms for 'period' and why they all feel a little mealy mouthed. Here are some that I came up with:
The Curse: popular at school as it had a cool edge to it and accurately describes how it feels sometimes
Monthlies: I hate this one. It sounds like a Good housekeeping delivery, and a little too homely for me.
Period: I know, I've sort of covered this one but I don't like saying 'I have my period'. It's clinical, completely undescriptive and it niggles me for reasons I can't fathom.
Surfing the Crimson Tide: This is nicked from the film Clueless, but I always rather liked it. It's a little lippy, has humour (which nothing else about it does) and somehow is gross in an appealing way.
Monthly Flow: Just as bad as monthlies frankly, and there is nothing remotely 'flowing' about being hunched over in agony, feeling the size of a house with an extension and wanting to hide under the duvet.
Anyway, I wasn't going to write about the joys of my monthly flows was I? I was going to write about the fact that it is, SHIT, 3.15pm and I have done absolutely nothing of any use all day.
On a normal weekend this would not necessarily be problematic as I could be a whirling dervish on Sunday and get loads done but I have to drive to London and back for a meeting (yes, on a Sunday) so that rules out any frenzied efficiency on the home front.
I am going back over to the house right now to get cracking.
The price of health
1 day ago