The Monthly Report

Dear Period,

I remember when I was about six I found a tampon on my Mum’s dressing table and I took it to her, asking her whether it was a lolly and could I eat it. She laughed out loud before sitting me down on her bed and explained what it was and how it was used. I recall being suitably shocked, and vowed that that would NEVER happen to me.

A few years later, when I hit high school, you DID happen to me and I was suitably unimpressed. And you have been a legit pain in the ass ever since.

But now, at 43, things are spiralling out of control. You cause me to turn into a complete psycho for at least a week prior to your arrival. Things that annoy me to the enth degree include, but are not limited to the following…

  • Kids rustling wrappers in the car
  • The sound of my family chewing at the dinner table
  • Going to the latrine and finding no toilet paper
  • When someone drinks my last diet coke
  • Slow people walking in front of me
  • People in general
  • Mirrors of any sort, including general reflective surfaces
  • Questions. And speaking.

When you finally arrive, you do so with gusto. You make my guts feel like they are being stabbed my a thousand angry daggers. Why, just this morning I staggered into the chemist and said to the lovely ladies behind the counter…

“My period pain is trying to kill me!” They moved quickly to hand over a packet of Naprogesic and told me that I had to take two immediately with food. So I went to the cafe next door, sat with some mates, complained to them about you for a while then ordered a coffee and a banana bread so I could take the tablets. AND THEN THIS FUCKING BUTCHER BIRD ATTACKED US TWICE, TRYING TO EAT MY BANANA BREAD. FUCK YOU NATURE.

What gives, guts? I no wanna no more babies. I am too old and weary. I just want you to go away, but from what I hear (and am beginning to experience) is that you will not leave quietly. Instead, you will up the ante a bit, it seems. Torrential conditions, that is all I am going to say. Torrential. Oh and the mood swings. I don’t want to be that person, but I have no control over them. I want to curl up on the couch in pity, but life, it just keeps coming at me.


According to Doctor Google, you had me at peri-menopausal. No one really talks about it. Your average length is four years. FOUR FUCKING YEARS? I can look forward to Hot flashes, Breast tenderness, Worse premenstrual syndrome (THE ACTUAL FUCK?) Lower sex drive (how low can one go?) Fatigue, Irregular periods, Urine leakage when coughing or sneezing (check), Mood swings and Trouble sleeping.


I hate you.

Look, I have done the right thing by you. I have tolerated 252 visits from you and rarely complained, but times have changed and I have had a gut-full. But as my oestrogen wanes, you THINK you would cut me some slack. But NO……. Now you are fucking trying to turn me into a man with chin whiskers and a faint moustache.

AND WHILE I AM HERE, WHY THE FUCK AM I PAYING GST ON TAMPONS? That is it. I am writing to the finance minster….

Sir, may I bend your ear for a bit?

So period, I am breaking up with you. IT IS NOT ME IT IS YOU. I want to wear white pants with confidence. I wish to go surfing in a white bikini before paying beach volleyball. I am not asking for much. Just for you to exit the building, or at the very least, calm done a tad.

Yours in a ball of hot mess,


Is it just me, or does this get worse with age?