Dear Sir/Madam,
Your irritatingly cheerful “Have a happy period” slogan. It gets on my nerves. In fact it gets right on the cracks in between my nerves and right the way down to find the last sane nerve. The one I was saving for when I ran out of coffee.
What is happy about having a period? A big fat fucking nothing, that’s what. What’s happy about bleeding so heavily you ruin at least five pairs of knickers and have to use enough sanitary product to sink a battleship? Forgive me for this, but I’ve been happier when contemplating the contents of my cat’s freshly soiled litter tray! What is happy about crippling abdominal pain and a bloated abdomen that leaves a woman feeling like Buddha’s living twin? Wanting to drown your hormonal tears of misery in a pint of ice cream them top it off with enough chocolate to feed a sub-continent does not leave me feeling thrilled. There is nothing fun about being stoned out of your box on painkillers and sobbing into your cake in front of a corny chic flick. Not a happy time!
Then there is the matter of how much they smell. In fact, forget that, they really stink! There is a horrible stinking sickly sweet smell to the things. Rather like a 1970s market bought perfume, only the smell of your sanitary towels doesn’t disappear after around half an hour. More’s the pity. I’ve smelt nicer rotting compost if I’m brutally honest. What on earth made you think women would gleefully slap that stench next to the most intimate area of their body? Has nobody explain all about the Ph of ladygardens to you?
Seriously. Have a word with yourselves. Oh, and send chocolate. My supplies are low.
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