So, Jesus, Tampax Lied; My Period is So Not Happy
Dear Lord Sweet Baby King Jesus,
I’m not the type to ask for supernatural assistance every time my neighbor’s great aunt stubs her toe, but, today, I have a request.
Just because I’m not a big supplicator doesn’t mean that I’m not up-to-speed on shit. I know, for instance, that, according to Mark 5, verses 25-34, your impressive miracle repertoire includes, shall we say, the ability to dry up the red sea. Get it? Anyway, I know that, on every other occasion on which we have spoken in the past few years (omitting all the times I was like, “PLEASE JESUS PLEASE PLEASE PLEEEASE DON’T LET THEM CALL OUT THE DRUG DOGS”), I’ve asked for pretty much the opposite of this, but, this time, I’m going to have to ask you to work a Mark 5:24-36 on me. Like, stat, because, even though Shark Week just started today, it already feels like Shark ETERNITY.
I’m not very particular about the method by which you go about alleviating my menstrual misery. Even early onset of menopause, for instance, would be totes acceptable. There’s only one exception I’m going to have to ask you to make: whatever you do, don’t conjure up a pregnancy in order to call off this month’s period. I know you pride yourself in your sense of humor, and that this is just the kind of thing you’d find hilaaarious, but, trust me, it would really be kinda tacky. Besides, you need to save all your fertility spells for Beyonce.
If you choose to do me a solid here (and I think you should, because, per the aforementioned passage in the Gospel According to Mark, you dig impure women), I so promise that I will consider going to church. Really! Just not until the cramps have fully abated. A girl can only endure so much torture in one day.
So, good luck, and don’t fuck it up, or whatever your followers tend to end a prayer with, Amen.