Contact with [menstrual blood] turns new wine sour, crops touched by it become barren, grafts die, seed in gardens are dried up, the fruit of trees fall off, the edge of steel and the gleam of ivory are dulled, hives of bees die, even bronze and iron are at once seized by rust, and a horrible smell fills the air; to taste it drives dogs mad and infects their bites with an incurable poison.

Jeg kunne ikke leve opp til Flo Kennedys mor som var rengjøringshjelp og av gammel slaveslekt. En dag ble hun beskyldt for å ha stjålet, med det resultat at hun tok det våte bindet fram fra skrittet og slengte det i ansiktet på Fruen.

Given my swimmingly fetching cultural milieu, getting used to this bleeding business took quite a while. In the meantime, I fervently asked people why the hell this happened to us girls. Various sources consistently informed me that it was (big sigh) “just part of being a woman” (big sigh), or the good ol’ standby curse we inherited from Eve.

If nature really acknowledged the so-called women’s month, the entire month would have been period-pains-free.

Never trust something that bleeds for seven days and doesn't die

...she did remember one time when she got her period, sliding open the cupboard under the bathroom sink to get a sanitary napkin; she remembered looking at the box of Stayfree pads and thinking that the box looked almost smug, seemed almost to be saying: Hello, Patty! We are your children. We are the only children you will ever have, and we are hungry. Nurse us. Nurse us on blood.

If you think you are emancipated, you might consider the idea of tasting your own menstrual blood - if it makes you sick, you've got a long way to go, baby.

Nothing else in the world makes a man like that more afraid than five girls on their periods.

If only people didn't build this air of mystery around menstruating women, you would have caught a few of us smack dab in the middle of our excuses.

Talking about the ooze that leaks out of our orifices is uncomfortable for everyone involved.