Dude, my bad luck turned into shit luck yesterday.
It was Valentine’s day. The day was perfect! Sweet gifts, a warm fuzzy Valentine named James, a great time at the zoo (yes, people, the zoo, and if you don’t believe that I would actually get my depressed ass out of the house long enough to go to go smell the monkey shit, see the pictures from yesterday’s post), and the kids actually went to bed early.
And then it happened.
I was kissing Julie goodnight, practically giddy about what the night probably had in store, and I realized something didn’t feel quite right down there.
And something most certainly wasn’t right down there.
My period. Or rather, a rampaging bloody flood, eager to kill all hopes of breaking out the champagne in celebration of what I imagine St. Valentine had intended us to enjoy.
We’re not talking about a few simple drips here, we’re talking about borderline hemorrhaging. The kind that makes you want to run and take cover because YOU KNOW that God is telling Noah to get that Ark ready again.
As if the mocking flow couldn’t just stop at shattering my nighttime plans, it decided to get ALL OVER my freaking jeans and stain the crap out of my adorable Valentine boycut panties that I’d waited ALL DAY to parade around in for my sex-deprived husband.
I have never in my life wished that I was born with a penis instead of a vagina, but dammit, in that moment I got very, very close.
And yes, my husband is still sex deprived. Poor guy. He even gave me a back massage in hopes of curbing my sudden wretched mood. And then we went to sleep.
One would think that I could have slept really well, considering I was so tired I could barely stumble to the potty without knocking my head on the wall, but no. Of course not. My boobs woke me up like four times because for some retarded reason they just WOULDN’T STOP LETTING DOWN. And I had to get up TWICE to change my super jumbo tampon because it was spilling over. And I got up TWICE to re-swaddle the little crying-in-her-sleep munchkin.
James slept pretty peacefully, scratching his balls maniacally only a couple times early this morning, and only knocking the clock off his nightstand once. Which then started ticking REALLY loudly every other second just to piss me off and forced me to put ear plugs in.
Someone please explain to me how one can become narcoleptic. Is there a pill I can take? Like a Prozac supplement? I NEED to have narcolepsy.
It was a miserable night. And I’m exhausted.
Did I earn the right to be a bitch today?
Current Mood:
Angry