The Post Where I Compare Perimenopause to Beowulf

Alternate Title: This Post Brought to You by a Random Bout of Insomnia

Dear Mother Nature,

May we have a word? I'm a little mad with you. You and I met when I was, oh, about nine years old or so when you gave me these little things called "buds"; you know, the beginnings of boobehs. "Buds", cute name for such torturous little balls of pain. Avoiding things like wind or letting the shower hit you clear in the chest was a fun time. Then you threw some awkward pubic and armpit hair on me. About that; I know you work painstakingly hard on pulling the universe together in perfect harmony, but unwanted body hair is kind of a holdover from our prehistoric selves that was once useful for warmth and keeping random cooties and debris from wandering into our nether regions. For quite some time now we've had the luxury of things like underwear, pants, and sweaters. You know, clothes. And central heat. And penicillin. So now all that it does is create a very lucrative business empire called: hair removal. But I digress.

Then when I was eleven you returned and granted me the gift of menstruation. And we had a deal. I even eventually dropped three more human beings onto the planet for you (just to sweeten the pot); through my vagina...and by the way, could you work on making that opening just a liiiiitle bit bigger? Anyway, the deal...It was to be a cycle. Every twenty-eight days, to be precise. For an undetermined, but finite, time. And now? Now I feel like Beowulf. I don't know if you have a DVD player or video on demand where you are, but it goes a little something like this:

There's this king and his kingdom is cursed and vulnerable to attack by a beast that lives in the nearby mountains. And that one fateful night comes and many in the kingdom are slaughtered in a terribly ghoulish fashion. So the king summons the bravest dude in all the land, Beowulf, to come and kick some major ass. And that he does. He kills the beast dead. Beowulf does not disappoint. Then the king, who is sans a male heir, proclaims Beowulf as the heir to the thrown. They celebrate by drinking wine out of the Golden-French-Horny-Thingy-Goblet then the king throws himself off the nearest tower.

It turns out that the mother of the now dead beast is really pissed off that her son is dead. And she shows up later that night while everyone is sleeping and kills just about all the dudes. So Beowulf, armed with his Golden-French-Horny-Thingy-Goblet and what's left of his men, sets out to slay the monster-mama. Once in the cave inside the mountain the monster-mama finally shows herself and she's Ange-fucken-lina Jolie! Nude. Of course. And she's all, "Is that Golden-French-Horny-Thingy-Goblet a gift for me"? And Beowulf is all, "Uh, yeah, I guess" aawwwkward. Then she tells him that she's pretty darn upset that her son is dead but as long as she has the Golden-French-Horny-Thingy-Goblet in her possession, then his kingdom is safe. And then she's all, "Hey, Beowulf, eyes up here".

And does Beowulf slay her? No. Why? Because she's Ange-fucken-lina Jolie. And when the monster is Angelina Jolie you don't kill it. You have sex with it. And impregnate it with your child. But you don't know that last part even though you kind of suspect it.

Then one day one of your soldiers is all, "Hey, Beowulf, lookie what I found over yonder"! That's right. The Golden-French-Horny-Thingy-Goblet. Which means that it's no longer in Angelina Jolie's possession. Which means your kingdom is about to get messed up. Hardcore.

So really, Angelina Jolie Mother Nature. Was it really necessary to give me back my Golden-French-Horny-Thingy-Goblet this early in the game? For the last several months my kingdom has been under attack menstrual cycle has become what we call FUBAR. There is no "cycle" to speak of. It shows up when it damn well pleases. Especially on holidays. But now? Twice a month? Really? I only get a two week reprieve? I cry foul, Mother Nature. And it explains why I couldn't stop talking about those chocolate covered marshmallows I devoured Saturday night. They weren't just great; they were premenstrual syndrome terrific!

And enough with the random facial hair already! Are you aware that every mirror in my house is completely and utterly useless? Why? Because they only show me the way I like to see me. Now the mirror that resides on the backside of the sun visor in my car? Priceless. That thing is the speaker of truth. Do you know how humiliating it is to be seen plucking stray hairs out of your chin while waiting in the after school pick up line? Do you even care?

Signed,

A Disgruntled Female Human Being

P.S. You suck.