*Note: the situations in this blog are real. We don’t even change the names to protect the innocent. They don’t need mutherf***ing protection. They can clobber your ass all alone, thanks.
(The phone rings)
Me: Yus.
Cecil: Am coming over. What are you craving?
Me: I’m good.
Cecil: I’ll be there. I’m coming.
Me: Got it.
(A bit later, the buzzer sounds and I press the pass button. I am wearing my home costume, which I always put on as soon as I enter my door…like Mr. Rogers did. It contains whatever shirt I wore today and pajama pants. I hear clomping up the hall stairs as I open the door, and a curly head rises past the bannister.)
Me: Almost there…
(A furrowed brow and frowny face rises into view.)
Me: Allllmost. Keeeep trekin’…
(Cecil emerges, her arms full of stuff, including a bunch of flowers of which she shoves at me as she walks toward me, with disgust.)
Cecil: I bought you flowers.
Me: Okay.
(Cecil and groceries smoosh into me just past the door, and stay there. She stands with her face in my hair all muffled, as I hug her.)
Cecil: I wanted them.
Me: Got it.
Cecil: And all this stuff.
Me: I understand.
Cecil: …I put the box of chocolates back. But mostly only cuz the heart box depressed me.
Me: How do you have this much money?
Cecil: I charged them.
(We move into the kitchen where she unpacks a loaf of French bread, Peachy O’s, Honeycomb chocolate, red wine, Pamprin, and a tub of double fudge dark chocolate mudslide ice cream.
…I prep and vase the flowers.)
Me: Wanna talk about it?
Cecil: I cried nine times today.
Me: Uh huh.
Cecil: All of them, for no reason. Like the ice cream…
Me: Oh yeah…?
Cecil: I didn’t even know I wanted ice cream, till I was passing by the aisle all pissed and saw it and was all….
(Her face scrunches instantly and she starts to cry, again)
Me: Mm hm…so you got it.
(She nods, and pulls herself together.)
Cecil: Another time at the Sales Manager, when he asked me to double count and till the cash in his office.
Me: “At” him…?
(Cecil rips the French bread in half and bites a giant chunk off of it.)
Cecil: …And then this little asshole challanged me to push ups…
Me: Wait, what? The Sales Manager?
Cecil: No this like five year old kid was all, “You’re not the Black Widow. You can’t even do a push up.” And I was all, “Yes. I can.” And he was all, “No you can’t…” So I got up out of my chair, walked around my desk, dropped onto the floor IN MY DRESS, and did eight push ups.
Me: …Because of this kid.
Cecil: He belonged to some customer.
Me: …Kay…
Cecil: But, yes. He was an asshole.
Me: Don’t tell a woman she can’t do a thing.
Cecil: Fucking right!
Me: Best learn that lesson now, son!
(We grab the flowers and armfulls of junk food, heading to the living room, where she opens and pours wine, and takes a giant gulp.)
Cecil: Bridesmaids.
Me: On it.
Cecil: (Between gulps)…And then there was this seminar.
Me: Yuh?
Cecil: Inner Peace and Emotional Stability.
Me: …This is at work?
Cecil: –The speaker is this psych guru guy, comes in, does this spiel, and then is all, “Anyone have any questions? ” And I raise my hand and say, “Yes, what are easy ways to deal with day-to-day anxiety? ” And he asks me, “What do you want?” And I say, “To not be anxious. ” And he says, “No not ‘what you DO NOT want’ but ‘what DO you want.’ What DO you want?” And I’m all, “Um, to be CALM?!”
Me: –Uh huh.
CECIL: …The rest of my day was total shit after that. Just sat at my desk doing bare minimum. Lookit my phone history..
(I do.)
Me: (Reading) “Why am I Moody on my period.” “Chocolate for period.” “Best wine for period.”
Cecil: …While crying…
Me: There isn’t like a mutually exclusive type of wine or chocolate, babe, but I think you’ve hit a highly marketable idea…
Cecil: …And I read this article where this PhD wrote about how some women can have this total emotional wreck-house feeling for 7 to14 days before and after their periods! And that’s like…THE WHOLE MONTH!! Can you even imagine?! What if my hormones are changing and I become one of those women?!?
Me: …
Cecil: …Which is all NOTHING compared to the “Boy Toy” text war about how, just because he’s a PT and knows anatomy, that somehow means he understands my mentral cycle better than I do.
Me: Oh. HELL. No.
Cecil: No! No! You don’t get to think you know whats going on better than I do. It’s here it’s happening. TO ME!
Me: –Over and over again–
Cecil: And won’t shut up, even when I tell him to. He just keeps egging it on. Telling me it isn’t disgusting or horrible when I’m TELLING him, I FUCKING LIVE WITH IT! Don’t TELL me what it isn’t! You have no idea what I just took out of my vagina in that bathroom, asshole…NO idea what it’s like to have no physical control of your own person…the pain, the gore, the emotional roller coaster…the aches, the binging on everything in sight…
(She eats a spoon of ice cream and washes it down with wine.)
Cecil: …Telling me, “I respect you and your opinion about your menstrual cycle…”
Me: Well, that’s big of him…
Cecil: “…But it’s all clean and natural. And don’t forget, I’ve studied a lot about your anatomy, and what happens…”
Me: –Not the same thing–
Cecil: “…And even though I’ve never been with a woman sexually during that time…”
Me: –Amazing how he just keeps digging that hole–
Cecil: “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”
Me: –Or: not.
Cecil: “…I just want you to know, I don’t find it gross or repulsive or a wasteland or something…”
Me: –For the love of god–
Cecil: “You have your thoughts on it, which I appreciate, and I have my views, which you’re now aware of.”
Me: …
(Long pause.)
Me: …
Cecil: RIGHT?!
(She pours another glass, rips off another chunk of bread and pops a Pamprin.)
Cecil: FUCK periods!
Me: Fuck em!
~D