After a stern and lengthy consultation with my ovaries, the following rules were laid out--
They are no longer allowed to:
1. Cause me to overheat, sweat profusely, and see black spots while in the girls locker room stall.
2. Then as I’m scurrying to find some place private to suffer, make me collapse in a school corridor just as I'm calling Marcus to inform of my whereabouts.
3. Have the nerve to insist that I use the tiny black bag that once contained my, fresh from the bookstore, thank you Marcus, you good husband, you, box of Midol, to throw up in--so it once again contains my Midol tablets…now, regurgitated.
4. Cause my arms and legs to feel like thousands of pins and needled are being jabbed into them, only to then go completely numb and freezing.
5. Make my whole body shake and convulse as I uncontrollably punch Marcus in the leg.
6. Cause me cry and moan uninhibitedly into Marcus’ lap, while sprawled out on the gym floor as at least 20 strangers pass by me.
7. Invite 47 anciently trained, mini-Ninjas to assemble inside my abdominal region and do 537 round house kicks to my lower back.
Oh yes, the punishment shall be great should they decide to disobey...I tell you, they will rue the day!
Then the meds kicked in, and it was like it never happened...
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