Mother Nature woke me up before my alarm clock by doing Olympic sized cartwheels and backflips on my uterus. This was NOT happening. I had a whole list I wanted to get checked off before we left for a family BBQ that afternoon. I had food to prep, things to clean, and places to go! I was on a mission. Screw that bitch!
My first stop: the bathroom, where I confirmed facts as Mother Nature graciously presented herself in all her Technicolor glory. I almost shattered the bathroom mirror. With the ink just barely dry on our marriage license, my new husband of about six months and I were trying to coordinate a rendezvous for his swimmers and my egg to meet up in the tubes. Being greeted by Mother Nature every month on repeat was getting pretty old. I took care of business in the bathroom and left for my errands with a slight chip on my shoulder. Okay, the chip was the size of a triple layer fudge mousse cake (which I could have devoured in seconds), but whatever.
As items and tasks were checked off my list, I began to feel the wretched pull of sluggishness and lethargic tendencies that that bitch brings with her every month packed in her bag of tricks as big as a TSA approved 8-piece luggage set. I made it back home and let myself sit on the couch for FIVE MINUTES and promptly woke up two hours later with thirty minutes on the clock before we had to be at the BBQ. I shot up from the couch, raced through the kitchen, packed things into bags, wrapped a gift, boiled noodles, squirted mayo, cleaned the stove, fed the dogs, let the dogs outside, signed a card, and started the dishwasher all the while being watched by my husband who was fishing through a package of stale Oreos. The crinkle of the packaging was about to send me through the wall of the kitchen faster than the Kool-Aid Man.
“Stop!” I snapped. “We have to go, like right now! And you’re eating! You’re not even dressed!”
My husband stared back at me, eyes wide, chocolate crumbs around his beard.
“We have a half an hour before we have to go. I needed a snack!”
“We need to be in the car in 30 minutes. Like in the car and on the road.”
“I got it!” he said, fishing out another cookie. “We’re like three miles away.” The crumbs dribbled down his chin and onto his shirt. He casually reached up and brushed the crumbs onto the floor.
I flung my hands up and spun around to scrub the kitchen counter with a sponge. “Don’t worry, Husband!” I said. “I’ll take care of it! I’ve got everything. Just sit there and eat your fucking cookies while I do it all. Why do I always have to be the responsible one?”
My husband stared at me, cookie midway to his mouth, completely perplexed. He squinted, glanced down, and finally pointed at my crotch.
“She needs to leave!” he said. “She needs to go right now.”
“Well wouldn’t it be amazing if it were just that easy!” I flung the sponge at him.
We left the house in record time and got to the BBQ where I tried to act like I wasn’t shedding my uterus at that very moment and tried to contain myself from stuffing my face at the buffet of food that was laid out across the kitchen island. My husband disappeared into the crowd, running for the beer cooler and the safety and security of being at least 50ft away from me. I sat with my sister at the island.
We started talking about how shitty it is that every month girls have to suffer through the sucker punch that Mother Nature throws our way.
“Why couldn’t that bitch bring chocolate salted caramel cheesecake and Cool Ranch Doritos instead of bloating and cramps?” I asked, shoveling Mexican dip into my mouth.
“I know, right?” my sister said. “Like if all the things you wanted magically appeared.”
“Or like a BarkBox!” I said. (Side Note: If you live in a cave and don’t know what a BarkBox is, check it out. Even worse, if you have a dog and haven’t blessed them with the gift of BarkBox, get your credit card and go order. You’ll/they’ll LOVE it!)
“We could make something like a period box full of goodies for when you’re acting like a flat out bitch. A BitchyBox!”
“Yes!” she said. “Seriously that would be the best! Candy and chocolates, and soaps and oils and stuff. We could totally do that!”
We let it go and got drunk at the BBQ. The next day my sister called me at the ass crack of dawn.
“I’m serious,” she said. “We could totally do this. We could create these boxes and pull it off.”
I looked at the clock. “Well I’ve definitely got the bitchy part down.”
“Are you in?”
“Sure,” I said. “Let’s do this. Let’s get flowing.”