This is no period drama ..it’s a house of horrors
HEAVEN help the man who on Christmas day foolishly tweeted his “disgust” at women complaining about period pain on social media.
With one brain fart he condemned himself to metaphorical execution by an all-woman firing squad and the slaughter was merciless.
The idiot of Twitter village, Ibrahim, wrote: “It’s so disgusting the way some girls complain about period pain on social media. Yes, we know that you guys go through a lot during periods but is it too difficult to keep it yourselves or what?”
And lo! Twitter did unleash a bloodletting of biblical proportions.
Thousands of women responded, with Hammer House of Horror tales of period woe, as gruesome as they were acerbic and funny.
If he didn’t know what we went through before, he sure does now.
Ibrahim had unwittingly spawned a thread for women to share ghastly tales of blood clots, blood stains, blood flow, the cramps, the sweats, the chills, the constipation, the runs, the crying, the fainting, uterine contractions and all-round cluster hell.
If he reads it – and helpfully there are GIFs – he will learn more about the monthly shedding of the womb lining than a Harley Street gynaecologist.
One wrote: “My last period was a bit hectic, I sneezed and gave birth to a jellyfish.”
Another added: “Yesterday my flow was so heavy I got blood on my damn foot. Very pleased you’ve pinned this tweet so I can easily update you on future horrors.”
I will certainly think of Ibrahim the next time my shower resembles the stabbing scene from Psycho.
As a woman who won’t buy sanitary products from a man in a corner shop and who once owned a floral tampon holder, the thread was a cathartic outpouring. A few years ago, I would not have been allowed to even write about periods in a family newspaper, in a culture where periods were a “whisper it” event.
There are more than 500 discreet names for periods across the cultures, a reflection of our misplaced, collective shame.
We call our “monthly”, the curse, having the painters in, Aunt Flo, time of the month, the blob and mother nature’s gift (can I return it?) and a personal favourite used by the Australians – shark week.
Japanese women refer to their period as the red panda, the French, “Les Anglais ont debarqué”, literally translated as “The English have landed”.
Scientists claim we only lose a couple of teaspoons of blood but why then do I feel like a sacrificed goat that has been hung for week?
My PMT is not noticeable, perhaps because I am consistently unpleasant but I have friends who suffer so severely, I suspect they are responsible for a couple of forest fires. I do get weepy, oddly any kind of hugging sets me off, even if it’s just in an advert.
The clumsiness is calamitous and I ricochet off furniture like a pinball.
And the pain can be so intense, I feel like John Hurt in Alien when a creature bursts from his chest, except for chest read uterus.
But while I can cosy up in front of the fire, women across the globe are not so lucky, with many cultures declaring menstruating women as unclean. In Nepal they are even confined in menstrual mountain huts, in case they make the men or livestock sick.
So Ibrahim should consider moving to Nepal, where menstruating women are neither seen nor heard.
And where there’s no wifi for Twitter.