Are You There, God? It’s Me, Post-Menopausal Margaret
Forgive me, Mother, for I have sinned
We need to have a talk, g.
At the naïve age of twelve, I begged and pleaded for this menstrual monstrosity. You knew what I was in for more than I did, god. I just wanted to fit in with my friends. I received the lesson you served me like a splash of cold water across my face. Never give up what you believe in to fit in with others. Never choose cruelty.
Looking back now, it ended up being a lesson that I would have to learn repeatedly, but I tried to recognize it and course correct. Considering I’m surrounded by a cherished chosen family, I’m optimistic that I succeeded in living that lesson more often than not.
Thank you for teaching it to me.
However!
Little did I know, I would spend the next forty years talking to you all the goddamn time about the same goddamn topic. My stupid period!
Sorry, sorry. I shouldn’t tell you to damn yourself, that’s rude and seems vaguely masturbatory, ew. But my god, I begged for period-related favors for a host of predicaments for forty years. Forty. Years. All the terrifying times I willed it to please, god, come already, oh my god, what if.
