An open letter to boys from the girls
By Lori Mastronardi
WHAT DOES SHE HAVE IN MIND? Sleeping masks are not only
for super heroes with X-ray vision, but for mischievous
university students too.
We are currently out of service.
For the next five to seven days our regular routine will be
interrupted by this monthly inconvenience.
The fact of the matter is, we feel like crap. Our stomachs
hurt with a cramp that is more painful than being tackled in
a game of football. And our desire for sex has been replaced
by a relentless craving of everything salty and sweet — all
at the same time.
It’s true, the doctor assures that exercise will help
this pain to subside; unfortunately, we are not in the mood
for a workout of the sexual variety.
You’re also correct in your assumption that these uncontrollable,
fluctuating hormones may cause us to feel an increased desire
for sex during this time. However, unlike yourselves, simply
because we want sex doesn’t necessarily mean we are in
any position to receive it.
And most importantly, do not assume that this week can be labelled “blow
job week.” We are not receiving any pleasure, strictly
pain, so you can expect nothing more than that. Our time of
the month has become your time of the month.
We are not feeling as energetic as usual and would rather
not subject you to our unpleasant feelings of discomfort. Instead,
we prefer to indulge in the satisfying taste of chocolate and
the comfort of a couch watching episodes of Sex and the City.
Don’t quite understand the appeal of such a scenario?
It equates to your desire to split a pitcher of beer, watch
the Stanley Cup finals and receive a gratifying blow job.
Everything may have seemed wonderful just yesterday, and we
promise, things will be wonderful again. Just let us shield
our crampy, moody self from you for just a little while longer,
and we’ll be yours, open for service for the next three
weeks — well, almost. Rather, how about when we’re
in the mood, we’ll give you a call.