There’s nothing quite like your GYN inquiring as to whether you still have your regular visits from “Aunt Flo” to make you feel young and spritely. Fan-frickin-tastic.
I am riding on a couple of stellar days (no reference to the Perseids, of which I viewed zero). My big kid left for his senior year of college, AND I got to visit my above-mentioned doc, so that I can check “girl stuff” off the list of severe, flesh-eating conditions that I may discover are coursing through my body on any given 3:30 in the a.m. It’s what I like to refer to, affectionately, as an Ibu-day. You can insert your pain relief of choice to personalize it, if you like.
As the workplace Candy Ma’am, I dole out ibuprofen by the handful, and my coworkers are well aware of my cycles, as evidenced by my face taking on a look similar to our pretend migraine sufferer here. Also by my “special little purse” that hovers precariously close to qualifying as a fanny pack (horrors). It’s so discreet there–my colleague with the voice that carries approximately the length of a football field is perfectly cool with hollering at me from the copy room, “Hey, Peachy, you got your period? I see you have your little purse!” Why, YES, I DO, friend, and yes, I do, young male student walking by on his way to the bathroom, and thank you for asking! This year, we have to get way more professional, and go with the Aunt Flo code.
Take your time winding down, summer. Take your time.