I offer thee a Period Pack. May it improve your hormonal state and my life expectancy.

I should make a disclaimer that I was at the height of hormones when I wrote this. I apologise for any and all sexism. This apology will expire at onset of the next period.
Also, I’m not really sorry, vagina life is a tough life. Think yourself lucky you don’t own this contraption.

Period Pack: An offering to the female of the species at her most volatile time. Period packs are, usually, gifted by the male to subdue the females aggressive, emotional and unstable behaviour at the onset of menses. Well received packs typically contain chocolate, puddings, cake, wine and/or relaxation aids such as bath bombs.

If you haven’t heard of a period pack, then you really need to sort your shit out. It’s the least, the VERY least, you can do to help a mensing woman. If you need a reason to supply your woman with a period pack, other than her insides literally spilling out of her, I’ll put it simply – she is the keeper of the most high maintenance, erratic, emotional and testing genitals on the planet.

The first thing you should know is vaginas are grade A pains in the arse (literally, but we will get back to that later). I’ve yet to encounter a woman that is 100% thrilled with having a vagina. Sure they have the capabilities of creating life and all that magical bullshit. But they also have the ability to make you google things like ‘can I die from a heavy flow?’, ‘why do I get period poos’ ‘why do my legs hurt on my period’ – all legitimate vag related concerns. Even when the vagina isn’t in season, it’s still an arsehole. This life producing lady purse has a mind of her own, and she’s more pumped up than a suffragette being told no, you can’t vote. With the ability to cause the owner extreme suffering and pain, both mentally and physically, it’s no wonder women are seen as the ‘moody’ sex. You try having genitals that dictate which type of underwear, if any, that the hoo-ha holder is permitted to wear. Ever had sex and heard the sorrow filled words ‘but you liked it last time?’. That’s the vagina. Ever seen a grown woman tank an entire box of Dairy Milk while sobbing at ‘adopt a tiger’ commercials. That’s the vagina. Ever seen a woman spit venom in your direction, only to somewhat apologise two seconds later. That’s the vagina. Ever wondered why bitches be crazy. That’t the vagina. She makes the rules, and the female follows, else suffer dire consequences – chafing, irritation, thrush, pinched flaps, ‘dry’ spells and mortifying emotional outbursts, to name a few. The V is ridiculously highly strung, the V life isn’t an easy life.

Secondly, speaking of pains in the arse, why does it need to be so fucking painful to expel some bodily tissue?! Oh no, not another women moaning about how horrible periods are. If you’ve ever had that thought then, you can go and take your face for a skelp off the closest wall. It must be a real pain for you to listen to women complaining. Actually, no it’s not a pain. Pain is having a baby making factory that Satan created. It’s a sadistic, torture chamber of fucking misery some months. Some women are tortured for weeks on end at the hands of a grumpy uterus. And that’s the lucky ones. Some poor women have PCOS or endometriosis or other forms of arseholish vagina conditions.

Generally speaking, no female will make it to the grave without experiencing some form of genital pain. Not only do our reproductive organs feel like they are hosting an illegal rave to a bunch of stomping, bashing, roof on fire, parting toddlers high on Fruit Shoots, but the surrounding organs are subject to ‘death by association’. Period poops are a very real thing, holding on for dear life to the bathroom tiles, all the while thinking ‘why the fuck does it need to be this way?!’ Or it can go the other way, there’s not many things more uncomfortable that eating like a ravenous hormonal beast for days, only to notice that not much has been passed out the other end. Still, you’ll eat, to the point that new food is sitting upon the undigested Cadbury’s mini rolls atop your esophagus. The lower half of a females body belongs to her genitals, it literally bloats to twice it’s size, full of angry uterine blood, chocolate, hormones, poop and self loathing. Is there really any need for genitals to cause so much disruption? And no, it’s not the same as being full after a large meal, and no we cannot stop eating. We eat to save lives, males lives.

Sore arseholes and bloated stomachs I can understand, I get it, close proximity and all that. But sore hips, legs, and even knees?! It’s bad enough that having a flap circus causes your whole mid section to transform into an over weight 60 year old chronic beer drinker’s belly, but our limbs will actually ache. Fuck, forget your back, that bitch has been sore since the minute Vag decided to pop out her first snot (I’m sorry, that’s disgusting, yet highly accurate). For pretty much the entire time a women is fertile, and even in to the drying up years, her back is going to hurt, all the time. And if a pressure filled, tightening back isn’t enough to suggest that vaginas are complete shitheads, your joint cans become so stiff, just getting off the sofa to empty the biscuit tin down your throat is hard work. That is if you can stomach food, it’s not uncommon for period pain to be so intense if causes vomiting – vomiting from pain, on a monthly basis. What the absolute fuck is the need for that?! The amount of physical pain a women endures simply because she owns a flap cage is outrageous, what more reason do you need for buying her a gift!

Put it this way, I didn’t cry once during labour. I groaned and managed to keep my composure, well mostly. But there’s been many, MANY, a period that’s seen me pacing the bathroom, doubled over the bath, bawling my eyes out in pain, exhaustion and complete ‘WHY!!’ frustration waiting for my period chunder to arrive. My uterus literally bringing me to my knees, praying to fallopian gods for mercy.

Another legitimate reason to spoil any and all females, is that despite wanting to rip your head off and drink your blood at the height of her ‘hormonal state’, women still have to put up with you. And every other fuckwit roaming around. I say fuckwit as during this tender time, women have zero tolerance for you and your fuckery. I’ll put my hand up to hating the male of the species at the height of period-gate. We see you, sauntering about with your brainless penis, not a cramp in the world, thinking you run the place. Then you ask US where your keys are, while running your mouth off about politics, useless football pish or other dick measuring ‘facts’ that you can ram right up your non twitching arse. Don’t be alarmed if your female friend clenches her jaw and leaves the room mid ‘let me tell you how feminism is destroying the work place for men’. Off you fuck with that topic, not today of all days. If a women becomes silent and looks very, very intent with your conversation, she’s actually trying not to commit murder, with her bare hands. All she can hear is your droll voice while her ovaries are smashing up the joint below, take a bow and leave her and her angry vagina.

Don’t take offense though, she’s not a sexist, radical ‘chop all dicks off’ feminist. Don’t flatter yourself. Half the time females done even like other females during these wild days, it’s very much a every uterus for themselves kinda scenario. There’s a point in every vagina’s cycle that causes the women to assume the ‘resting bitch face’ involuntarily. Not even a raised eye brow will be performed during such time. This is a women at her most dangerous. The vagina has pushed her to the edge and she’s just about had enough of all your bullshit, anyone’s bullshit. It’s not usual for females to lash out at their kin during this time. You try not committing murder when every one is being a stellar pain in the fucking arse for just breathing. By the way, don’t give a period pack to woman on this day. She will fucking murder your insensitive arse by strangling you with the bag. Don’t hate the player, hate the vagina.

You might think, well it’s not so bad, you only get a period once a month, the rest of the time having a vagina must be fun? Umm, no. Let me tell you, they say a penis has mind of it’s own, but I think we are over looking the true rogue in the family. I have had a vagina for 30 years and I can’t tell you what the fuck it wants half the time.Vaginas are moody, high maintenance, elusive, obtuse, sources of contention and frustration. A man gets an erection during sex, he wants sex. Stick it in, jobs a good un. Easy peasy. The vagina? She’s not very well connected to the brain, or memory for that matter. I could write in one, short, sentence how to please the penis. But the vagina? That I own? No. It’s not been unknown for me to scoop the bitch up and scream ‘what do you want?!?!’ right in the middle of sex – much to a bemused and slightly impressed partner.

What seemed like the best night ever last night, may or may not meet the demands of Sergeant tunnel cheeks tonight. A night of passion will soon descend into a night of ‘try it this way’, ‘no, stop that’, ‘this way!’, ‘no, that’s shit, she’s having none of it’, ‘I don’t fucking know what her problem is!’. There’s a reason people invented lube, and the reason is fussy flaps down there. You could be having the best time of your life and she’ll cut the party short, why? Because you moved two centimeters to the left. Envisage a huffy, stroppy, ticked off woman, folded arms, head tilted to the left, letting out a high pitched ‘hmph’ – that’s the vagina. Fussy fan will have you back on square one of the horny chart in the flick of a ‘switch’, wondering where it all went wrong for your lady nemesis. Other times, she’ll be so ready to party, you will be disgusted with yourself. The vagina wants what the vagina wants, and she gets it, 100% of the time, we are mere slaves to the vagina.

Having a vagina is really just being held hostage to the most sensitive, anxious, angry, hostile and demanding kidnapper the world has ever seen. Sure it can make and grow a child, but you use the wrong type of soap, heck, any soap for the daily ‘we’ve got to clean you now Ms V, is that ok?’ and she will erupt into a ball of flames. For a week. We can’t just lift up the auld balls and give it a good scrub. We’ve got to be careful, its sensitive down there. It’s like she’s on the edge of an emotional breakdown, like a woman waiting at the door for her partner who said he would be home by 10pm and it’s now 2am. As a female we must be careful to navigate her mood, as to not enrage the beast. But one stupid swipe of anything other than pure water blessed by the sensitive Gods, and you’ve got yourself a very red, hot and angry fire trap on your hands.

Don’t even get me started on perfumed toilet paper. Who ever thought messing about with toilet paper and adding a little aloe fucking vera would be a great idea was NOT the holder of a vagina. C’mon man! How hard are you poop pushing that your arse requires a gentle stroke of aloe vera paper?! Stop this madness, for the love of uber sensitive lady doors, stop!

I could write vag complains for days, I’ve not even touched the sides (heh heh) of irregular menstrual cycles, the inability to wear knickers that have misplaced seams, how everyone and their aunt will see your muff at some point in your life, whether that be smear tests, contraception or child birth, the fact that your vagina has a personalty transplant after child birth, the mind blowing fact that vaginas are baby houses and baby delivery chutes or that riding on the bus does not produce orgasms much to every females displeasure – such pleasures cannot be achieved in the time it takes a women to ride the bus. Vag needs 20 minutes prep time, at the very least. I’ve never met something that wants sex so much, yet is so fucking demanding that even I get bored.

Having a vagina is brutal. And yet, we are still required to function as a ‘normal’ member of society, all the while we are held captive to the silent, nonsense, demands of the vagina.The next time you see a woman, just buy her a period pack. Just do it, shes a slave to the vagina, the least you could do is give her a bar of chocolate and retreat away from her face immediately.

K x

I’m over on Insta, most days, @honestkirsty 🙂 (I promise not to mention the word vagina…too much)


Author: Honest K

I'm too shy to fill this in. About me? Mmmm, should I say I'm a mother, partner, worker or should I write that I have no idea what I'm doing here, I don't have any wise words to share that will illuminate your life. I just wanted to bash away at the keyboard and spit out what's in my mind. Pretty sure this is not the best way to start a blog.

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