Aunt Flo and the Assholes Who Love Her

Happy New Year to everyone to whom I haven't already said it. There. I don't have to say it anymore until next year. If I haven't said it to you yet, and you're neither smart nor intuitive enough to read this blog post, well then, you're shit out of luck.

Apparently, there have been a lot of people whose new year's resolution was to follow more blogs because I have doubled my readership in the past week. I'm not saying that I'm the best, but... I'm the best. A great big, bitchy welcome to all my new readers. I will try to return the favor, but I'm a busy bitch, so if I forget you sometimes, suck it up. I once forgot my two-year-old at a state park and I love him, so... Calm down, I remembered him by the time I was half way to the car.

Now to the reason for this particular bitch fest: feminine hygiene products.

Can we talk like girlfriends? Good, 'cause I'm going to do it anyway. Bruce, Rabbit, and Dad, I hereby dub thee honorary girlfriends. The same goes for any man who reads this blog, but I have yet to get to know. If that doesn't work for you, just pretend you're watching the game and a commercial for tampons came on at halftime.

Let's dish.

Because I'm still of childbearing age, barely, but still there, I have occasion to purchase feminine hygiene products. I try to avoid it simply because it's a pain in the ass. Usually, I buy the biggest box I can find so that it takes me months to have to do it again. Well, today, I needed to do it again. Yesterday, actually, but I push my luck with everything else, so why should this be different?

I made a list of all the things I would need and I was all set for a quick trip to Wally World or Target (read tar-zhay). Then I remembered that I haven't been to the store all week, so I will need to add a few things to my list. The list goes from three to fifteen items long. Then I remember that it's Friday, pizza night, and I don't have any pizza or items to make pizza. That means I have to go to another store. Well, if I have to go to two stores, I may as well clip those coupons that have been sitting on my desk since Sunday. Since I'm clipping coupons, I may as well look through the sale papers so I can get some sale/coupon combos. I mean, that only makes sense, right?

And this, gentlemen, is why it takes women so long to get ready to leave the house. Now you know. No need to thank me.

I had planned to leave the house at around 8:30 a.m., but with all the new items on my to-do list, it was looking more like 9:30 or 10:00. Oh shit, I haven't showered or eaten yet. Make that 10:30. Well, Mother Nature, Aunt Flo, or The-Thing-That-Created-Mrs.-Hyde, does not like to wait. She's an impatient bitch and she was telling me, not at all subtly, that she would not wait until 10:00. So, I drag myself to my neighborhood Family Dollar to get the biggest box of, um, supplies they sell.

Now, I don't like going to any dollar store on a Friday morning, for reasons I will tell you in my next post, but there I was with the male cashier, and five male customers. Not a woman in sight. I tried to locate the obvious sale they were having on hand lotion and tube socks, but no luck. I took my items to the cash register, the guy rung them up, and just stood there waiting for my money. I dug in my change purse to find the coin portion of my total. Then I went to the bills section of the wallet and fished out a $20 bill. The whole time I'm doing this, instead of bagging my items so that the other men will not see my very personal purchases, this ass clown just leaves my things scattered across the counter until:
1. I get money from two sections of my wallet,
2. give it to him,
3. he punches in the amount,
4. retrieves my change,
5. closes the drawer,
6. rips off the receipt,
7. hands me my change,
and only then does he bag my items. By that time every man in the store was in line behind me.

I have long since gotten over being embarrassed when men see me buying feminine hygiene products. It's life, and men know that women have periods, so nothing to be ashamed of. But even though I'm not ashamed, I wanted to bash his fucking face in with a can of FDS. Would it have killed him to bag my shit before all the men in the city saw what I was buying? Asshole.

Who came up with that cutesy little name, Aunt Flo, anyway? I take issue with it. She is nothing like my aunts. That bitch is just plain rude. My aunts would never just show up, out of the blue, and expect everyone to cater to her needs. My aunts don't leave messes and expect others to clean up after them. My aunts don't expect me to change my plans just for them. If it's not a good time for a visit, my aunts will plan to come when the timing is better for everyone. And if my aunts are upset with me, they won't kick my ass just for GP. Fuck that bitch. She ain't no aunt of mine.

****BTW, the zen bitch is making me pimp her from now on. Something about helping people in 2011 or some shit like that. If you have any questions or issues about which you would like a fresh perspective, email thewellfedspirit@gmail.com and your question and her subsequent response will be featured on The Well-Fed Spirit blog. When you email, let me know if you want your answer from the zen bitch (TWFS) or me (ABCM). If you pick me, you question will appear here. Thanks!