The Great Flood – Or “Thank Goodness I Wore Black”

Okay, this is going to come under the column of “For Women and Those Who Love Us” only.  There, I’ve warned you.  Read on at your own peril.  First off, I need to take just a wee moment to register some good ole crankiness – not man-hating, just crankiness.  As a woman still in her “child-bearing” years, I sometimes feel the need to whine a bit about the difference between women and men’s reproductive experiences.

Remember back when the girls and boys were separated into two classrooms and given the little talk about reproduction and all that good stuff?  I seem to recall there were talking flowers in the movie I got to watch – seems the LSD and hippy era hadn’t been long enough gone for our reproductive education to not include talking psychedelically colored flowers.  I remember sitting in that darkened room thinking, “wow, this doesn’t sound like much fun.”  Now, I don’t have a clue what the boys watched, but I have a pretty good idea that there were no talking flowers gushing on about what a miracle they were embarking upon…

Which leads me to this thought.  What terribly icky thing do guys have to survive in order to be a fully mature sexual entity?  Oh sure, an inopportune erection or the dreaded prostate check, but guys, have you ever actually seen a speculum?  I like to think of the dang thing as the “Jaws of Life” but that really is a bit extreme, I know.

So, this all comes about because yesterday was just a real gem of a day for me.  Now that I’ve entered the 5th decade of my living here on earth, I am blessed with the erraticism of pre-menopausal menstrual cycles.  Yippee.

Many women who have either been there, done that, or are there, and doing that, suddenly have a whole new appreciation of the word, “flood.”  You see, flooding is the nifty term created to explain how every once in a while, a woman can use every female hygiene product produced and at the same time, and still have to figure out how to artfully arrange a sweatshirt around her waist.

So for me, it was an end-of-year swim party for my son at a classmate’s home.  One moment I’m meeting his classmate’s parents and the next I’m realizing my day just got a whole lot more interesting.

Sometimes, it is just such a joy to have a uterus.

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