Originally, I’d wanted to create a blog that was all the frustrating, hormonal things I go through on a monthly basis. But there’s no way I could come up with enough material for something like that. This is something I came up with for that blog. It was probably after watching an episode of Jessica Jones.
Here’s the story so far. . .
Our kickass female vigilante has caught another jackass graffiti artist. She chases him up a fire escape, and across a city rooftop. She finally catches him, and they go tumbling. He lands badly. Cradling his wrist, while she calls the cops on her cell phone, they have the following discussion. (No actual medical facts about broken bones were harmed in the writing of this scene. it’s called suspension of disbelief, OK?)
Ow, you bitch! You broke something in my hand!
Can you wiggle your fingers?
Yes. what the fucks it to you?
Then it’s not broken. You just sprained it. Lay off the spray painting, and you’ll be fine in a few days.
And what the fuck’mi supposed to do until then?
. . . .
Jesus christ this hurts. You have no idea how much pain I’m in! Bitch!
Um, like from taking me down after chasing me across that rooftop?
No jackass. Cramps from my uterus expelling everything in it. Hurts like a motherfucker, is mother nature’s way of congratulating me for not getting knocked up, and happens for 48 hours solid every 4 weeks.
And . . . it feels like a broken hand?
Sprained. And it feels like, let’s see. Have someone kick you in the balls, and then run a two-day obstacle course while a red hot poker is occasionally shoved up your ass. And do all of this while convincing everyone around you that nothing out of the ordinary is going on. Oh, and do it every month. For 35 years.
Wow. i, guess i better man up?
I believe you mean pussy up. And yes.