Wednesday, July 22, 2015

A Party For WHAT?!

Do you remember when you got your first period? I was 11, and on a camping trip with my Mom, and her best friend. Anyway, after going to the bathroom, I was a little freaked out.  Dude, it was the 70's!  Sex education didn't cover much back then!  I called out for my Mom, she called her BFF into the melee, and then they gave me:

The Supplies:
 A thick ass maxi pad, with some kind of elastic torture device to hold it in place and a roll of toilet paper.

The Lowdown, Info, 411:
1. The toilet paper was to be used to wrap up your used pad before throwing it away. That way, no one really new you were on your period. (What?)

2. I was now a woman and could pregnant. The hell?! I'M ELEVEN! I"M NOT EVEN SURE I KNEW WHAT THAT MEANT, FOR FUCK SAKE!!  IT WAS ONLY THE 70'S!!

3.  A snicker, an eye roll and the sound of clinking ice in her highball glass was all I got.  I certainly was not the guest of honor at a Period Party.

Yep, you read that right. A motherfucking Period Party!  One of my cousin's daughter's just got an invitation to a Period Party!  Apparently, it’s not enough for a young girl to start menstruating; now that particular life event needs to be celebrated with a themed, invitation-only party. Much like everything else in some of these entitled little asshole's lives today.

Seriously people, are we raising a fucking generation that’s going to expect balloons animals and a godamn cupcake every time they fart or put the toilet seat down? When will this nonsensical bullshit end?

Sure, I agree it's an important time for a young woman, but is it necessary to do it with a party?
Especially seeing as how this will become her least favorite time of the month, starting one day after the "Hey, I'm bleeding" shindig and lasting until menopause or until she can convince a doctor to rip that shit out, roots, eggs and all.

As I sit here, I wonder... Do the guests eat red jelly beans, red Jell-O, drink Big Red soda and give their red balloons panty-liner mustaches?  Does the crazy ass Mother then read them excerpts from Judy Bloom's, "Are you thee God, It's Me, Margaret" or "The Period Book", while they dunk tampon shaped teacakes in their damn teacups?   Um, is it just me or does that sound like a scene out of some fucking whacko Woody Allen movie? 

How do you even plan a Period Party?  Are there places out there to go for supplies?  Are there sections in the party store that sell pretty princess period party pack that includes plates, cups, and pink feminine disposal goody bags? 

Are there games like, “Get The Egg Out Of The Ovary” (Don't get stuck in the fallopian tubes!), or "Tampon Basketball," or, "Pin the chocolate on the menstruating woman's mouth"?  Maybe there are word games like, "How many words can you make out of “Puberty Really Sucks!" or "Help I Have Cramps From Hell!" or my personal favorite, "Bitch, I have raging PMS and will kill you!"

Well, that sure sounds like way more fun than the traditional “run to the fucking bathroom and hope your period doesn’t go through your white pants or everyone in the 6th grade will taunt you until you fucking graduate, dumbass” game we all played, right?

What about gifts for the guest of honor?  What exactly are "Welcome to Womanhood" gifts?  How about a pocket calendar, a red candle, a case of douche, and pimple cream?  AWESOME!  Just what every 12 year old dreams of unwrapping!

And if that weren’t humiliating enough, does Mommy dearest invite older women to the party to “share their menstrual stories” with the tweens?  Yeah, because that's not fucking traumatizing at all!

“And then, girls, there was the time I had my period on my honeymoon, so my husband spent the entire time gambling in the casino while I cried and drank minibar vodka on the bathroom floor."

"Well, at least that was still better than that time I had cramps so painful that I took three Vicodin and crashed the car into Dunkin Donuts."

"OOH!  What about that time I got toxic shock syndrome and almost died from sepsis."

Such good times!  Welcome to womanhood, Sweetpea! Pass the Midol Martinis!”

Look, I know it's important to talk with our daughters about their bodies. Just do it without the fucking the red balloons, please.

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