To begin with a verse from a great old song “At first I was afraid, I was petrified,”
Okay, do not sing the rest of that song and do not laugh. Seven against one gives a man every reason to be afraid, petrified even. Those are not very good odds at all, but I faced those odds every month for at least two weeks, that is fourteen days out of every month, every single month for way too many years. I am not a very smart man, but it didn’t take me long to figure out when I needed to schedule a business trip, fishing trip, or just figure out a way to get my ass out of that house until the coast was clear.
The Day of the Moon, start of the cycle, Aunt Flo, period, or whatever clever mask you ladies try to put on it to disguise the sweetness which once possessed my beautiful wife and daughters. Somehow I would slowly descend into this seemingly never ending Hell I once referred to as our happy home. I started to be able to predict it. I got good at it too. I knew when it was going to happen and I was ready to take action. On the very first hint of a cramp, stomach ache, or pants that didn’t fit and I was scrambling to get my bag packed, notify the neighbors and my best friend of my impending doom just in case I went missing. If you have ever read one of my posts, you know I like the lighter side of things a lot, but this here…this was serious shit! The dogs and the fish even looked at me pissed off for seemingly no other reason than I had a penis. I was alone, desperate and very afraid.
The menstrual cycle deal was even worse with my first wife because her stuff was backwards because she was a bitch for 28 days out of the month and almost tolerable for just three. Nothing you can do about any of this. The alternative was just too much, and I could not risk the chance of lucky number seven popping out with a vagina also.
I was always taught the moon was just a rite of passage, celebrating a girls’ arrival into womanhood, but that is tough on a father in different aspects also. First, you have to realize your baby girls are growing up and may start to have interest in S-E-X, and horrible little punk boys, secondly they begin to turn into these ugly, whiney, clingy, pushy, irritable little demonic, chocolate and ice cream eating, penis hating, emotionally wrecked female dogs…okay bitches! Whew!
Now multiply that by seven, carry the one, and you have Hell in a household for the only man to live under that roof.
I did mention fourteen days because I think that was as close as all seven of them could get to syncing up with one another, plus there was the pre stuff and after stuff for all of them! Holy Hell, it was like Oprah couch show reruns every month for two weeks, (but it was still better than the twenty eight days I started with) and this did not include all the trips I had to make to the stores , changing A/C filters, opening windows, and emptying trash cans. I’ll discuss more of that in a blog to come because my first trip to buy tampons was an adventure in itself.
Chris Farley did a sketch about a motivational speaker by the name of Matt Foley who told kids to stop smoking dope or they would live in a van down by the river. Extremely funny, but for two weeks out of every month I wished I had been living in a van down by the river!