Pre Menstrual Syndrome. Such a short term. Compared to such a loooonnngggg agony!!! Agay! As we say in Chavacano. El dolor!
I remember the first time my vagina bled. It was during my eleventh birthday. Great timing. God drank a bit too much mompo (holy wine to non-Catholics) and became lightheaded enough that he upped my physical maturity during my goddamn birthday party.
I was wearing my pretty pink dress with oodles of flowing lace. Don’t flinch, it was the “in” thing at the time, besides I was glad something was hiding all the rolling layers of fat in there. (I was a big kid, and still am, so any stuffed guffaws will be violently dealt with.)
Ready to blow the candles on my cake, I leaned in and whoo- what was that?!? I was wet. And sticky. (And no, not *that* kind of wet, you pervert!) Ewww! I thought, omigod, don’t let me poo in my pretty pink ruffles! Please, let me have just wet my panties a little. (Although why I would *want* to wet my pants I would never know…)
So I rushed as fast as my heavy little big soles could take me to the bathroom. Gathered up all my ruffles, sneaked a peek at my panties, and oh, lordy! I went to my mama and whispered, all teary-eyed, “Ma, I hurt my kuka!!! Help!”
So my mama goes in to check and looks at me fondly. “My little big girl is all grown up!” Hands me a pad and says, “Wash your kuka, stick this to your panties and come out when you’re ready. You just had your first period, dear.”
And so I had the worst eleventh birthday party of all. My kuka hurt the entire day. And when my male cousins asked why I was so sullen, I nastily retorted, “What would *you* feel like if somebody squeezed your bolabolas so hard it tore up and nobody would help you even if you were bleeding like an open faucet???”
