The Great Mystery

Hollaback took half a day off last week for personal business. It's absolutely her right; that's why we have vacation days and personal days built into our employment structure within our jobs. Yet, she felt like she had to explain taking the time off to her manager. We humans do feel like we have to validate why we might need to take time off during the week. Why should we feel guilty if the only time your doctor might see you is between 9 and 5 during a week day? You shouldn't.

Since Hollaback's manager is a man, I offered her the best recourse should she have to ante up an explanation: tell him it was menstrual related. Wimmen issues. Those very motives scare the bejesus out of most men and bring the conversation to a dead standstill. The concept of The Period is sacred and still an unknown to most men so they don't dare question the complications The Period might entail. The wiggle room a menstrual cycle offers is copious.

Thinking back at the power of this predominantly feminine knowledge makes me laugh. When the concept of sex education is introduced to young adults, men are taught about the weird dynamics of their organs, emissions, the temptation of masturbation, why condoms are your friends, why pregnancy can be a trap and rudimentary mating manners. I doubt few progressive parents detail how oral sex can work both ways or how the menstrual cycle comes into play. Conversely, when I had my first sex education talk, my mother gave me a very clinical and boring book. I do recall a scary line drawing of a really big fetus growing in a woman's belly which gave me nightmares for a few weeks. The next step was a talk on the introduction of the menstrual cycle. My Mom never tied together for me how one's period relates to that scary uber-fetus drawing but again, I figured that part out later. What my mother did illustrate during the menstrual education talk were the various paper products I would have at my disposal to stem the flood of my curse. Wow, I marveled, look at the variety of products that I will have to conceal under my clothing. You'll conclude that tampons were not part of this initial exchange. I figured that part out later too.

Once fully armed with the knowledge of how these bits and pieces came together, I came to understand that I had a store of knowledge exclusive (to a large degree) to the feminine persuasion. I soon used it to some advantage.

My first victim was my brother. When we were teenagers he asked me what a period meant. At a moment when I could have been thoughtful and helpful, I took the opportunity to play a nasty-ass mean trick on him. I explained (in hushed tones and serious cadence of voice) that a period meant that a women bled monthly for a period of five days...and that she bled from the anus based on the amount of fruit she consumed in the previous week. Stupid git. He totally believed me. It must have scarred him somewhat for after that he rarely let his girlfriends eat much fruit for the next decade. Yeah, I do feel kind of guilty about that.

After that, boyfriends came into play. The notion of "I have my period" sent them running for the hills. It also helped me explain away the additional bloating of my belly or a bitchy mood due to my favorite catch-all: PMS.

PMS is the greatest invention of all time. You can speak in venomous tongues and pass it off to hormones. It's beautiful. At the mere mention of this affliction, men will cower and run for cover, having heard stories of women with PMS in such rages that they will get in the family car, hunt down their men and run them over (several times) because their hormones were out of whack. Men remember PMS stories with the most abject of fear. So if you call into work and say, "I have raging PMS," consider your day off a done deal. Your employer (if male) would rather have you safely ensconced at home than threatening to cut his penis off with a letter opener.

Even at my current age, I see men still don't quite get the concept. The words "I have my period" gets them all jittery. Fang will fetch me a hot water bottle for my belly. He will baby me and make me comfortable. I milk the shit out of it because I know he fears in a moment's notice I will turn into a blond haired Satan who can dismember his phallus in one swift gesture. Ignorance IS bliss--and it can be sweet, my friends. Sweet.

Of course my boss is a woman so this logic doesn't exactly extend in my personal regard. But my boss is the kind of woman who would totally understand my request for a personal day to have: A) Dermabrasion B) Liposuction C)Waxing, pedicure and manicure D) A day's bout of great sex E) A five course meal at a four star restaurant in Soho.

I have the best of all worlds.