Caloden

Toddlers go well with so many things: playgrounds, sandboxes, Easter egg hunts. But menstrual cramps? No. Nuh-uh. Not the kind that sneak up on you every four or five months. The kind where you want to hide in a corner and mourn the fact that you were born with the two X chromosomes and were not blessed with that Y. Or the kind that make you want to rip out your girl parts and shove them deep into the mouth of the nearest male just so he can get the smallest taste of what it means to be SHE. Or the kind that make you ever so slightly psycho so that when your children ask you for a band aid your initial reaction is, “What the fuck? Why the fuck do want that? Put a piece of fucking tape over that cut, for fuck’s sake.”

No, this is not an arena for toddlers.