Hell Hath No Fury Like A Woman PMSing

Jennifer's Body
Jennifer’s Body

I, like most kids, used to be afraid of the dark. I’m sure having a TV show that questioned that very thing wasn’t entirely helpful. And, to top it all of, was a show that, despite not liking it, I suffered through at sleepovers lest I expose myself as the Giant Scaredy Cat I was — um, am.

My fears ran the gamut from normal and expected to bizarre and “is your child in counseling?” (don’t worry, I began therapy at 12). There were things like the dark, dangling my feet off the bed, and thunderstorms that fit into the first category. Those inflatable, waving dudes that hang out at car dealerships? That fit into the second.

I’ll always be the first to admit it: I’m a fearful fox. An anxious animal. A worried…uh, worrier?

The point is, I’ve always been nervous as hell. That is until the day I met one fateful visitor. Until the day I met someone who would teach me there was nothing to fear but fear itself.

But also, me.

Aunt Flo arrived and whispered into my ear, “Trust me darling, you’re far more frightening than any of those things.”

I’m a bit like a werewolf, super harmless a large majority of the time. I try to place spiders back outside instead of killing them. I’d even go as far as to say I’m rather sweet. A nice gal you could totally introduce your mother to.

And then, it happens. That full moon arrives; my breasts swell in preparation for the change, and I, too, become the kind of monster small children have nightmares about.

This 5’2” neurotic, Jewish girl suddenly transforms into a creature you ought to PRAY you don’t come across.

I will tear your ass to shreds, ya dig?

Fear not the dark, an old proverb goes. Fear the woman PMSing for she will curse your unborn children shall you cross her.

I’m not afraid of the dark anymore for I have learned there is no greater evil than the one that takes control of my personhood. Beware of the woman waking up only to discover her Calvin Klein underwear has been soaked with blood.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to cry off and on for an hour.

I’m a complicated monster, okay? TC mark

Ari Eastman

✨ real(ly not) chill. poet. writer. mental health activist. mama shark. ✨

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