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Call Me Old-Fashioned But... In defence of P.M.S.


Rose Cora Perry | Interrobang | Opinion | February 14th, 2011



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Admittedly, I'm a right bitch one week out of every calendar month. But you know what? I and my fellow females are damn well justified in acting this way.

You try experiencing nausea, cramps, migraines, bloating, sugar cravings, surges in your body temperature and skin breakouts (not to mention the obvious: hormonal changes), and be in a good mood about it! Worse, even if I have no intentions of ever bearing children, I have the "privilege" of going through this on a monthly basis for a minimum of 40 years ... not to mention what comes next, menopause. No word of a lie, there have been times where I've been in so much physical pain because of "Mother Nature" I've been rushed to the emergency room only to have a male physician not understand what I was going through and send me home abruptly without even attempting to entertain my concerns.

Yes, it's a fact that women's pain threshold is much higher than that of men's, but given that our "monthly friend" makes us weak and fatigued because of the sizable loss of iron from our systems, coupled with the ultra-sensitivity and insecurity that results from our blemished, water-retaining appearances, it only makes sense from a psychological perspective that we get depressed, moody and easily stressed out.

If you want a comparable circumstance to which you, my male readers, can even begin to relate, think about what would happen if after a long sweaty trek, you got lost in the wilderness with no water or food that would satiate your intense thirst and hunger. You'd start to act a little out of character, too! Throw everything else unsightly I previously mentioned into the equation, and the pleas of temporary insanity would undoubtedly start being expressed full-force.

Ah, but that's just it. Men, for the most part, don't even begin to try to understand what it is women are going through during their periods, and therefore are rendered incapable of empathizing. Well, fellas, let me let you in on something: if any of you ever intend on getting married in the future, at some juncture you're going to have to throw away the immature childhood notion that women get "icky," "gross" and "bitchy" every 28 or so days, and that you don't want to hear anything about it, let alone go to the store to pick up feminine supplies or Advil. Fertility (as demonstrated by menarche) is after all, vital to carrying on your family's name, and I have yet to meet a man who craves a "marriage without children."

The point: In the words of blonde bombshell Marilyn Monroe, "If you can't handle (us) at (our) worst, then you sure as hell don't deserve (us) at (our) best." See? Even Marilyn had bad days.

I will say, however, that most of you are ill-educated when it comes to the subject at hand. So, in order to get a handle on things, this doctor's recommending a serious heartto- heart with your sister, best girlfriend or mother sometime soon. If this doesn't sound like your cup of tea, well then, leave us alone for a week every month and no one will get hurt.

Sometimes I really think we'd all be better off if villages still practised the tradition of sending away all of their menstruating women to community huts where they can happily bitch, cry for no reason and suffer together in peace. Girls' weekend, anyone?

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