At age 41, ladies and gentlemen..
Imagine a horror so true..so..so SURREAL…
That you wish you could undo time and completely avoid it.
Well, folks, I’m jealous of you because:
I don’t have to imagine.
Because. I . Just. Lived it.
(queue porn music)
WAIT! Wrong music!
(queue horror music like the Halloween theme or maybe something from The Omen or some shit like that)
Here's how it happened.
I was sitting at my desk at work.
I was possibly working but that’s highly improbable since I’m not really really clear what, exactly, I’m supposed to be doing here on a daily basis so every once in a while I’ll pretend like I’m interested in a meeting or some shit and ask a question that may be slightly relevant while my boss is around so it looks like I wasn’t a complete waste of a business investment and he leaves me alone except once in a while he pops in but luckily I have tilted my laptop AWAY from the aisle so he can’t tell that I’m Googling shit like “Oprah Winfrey vagina clothes” just to see what pictures come up.
FYI – I’m writing this whole fucking thing while I’m in my cube.
Regardless..there I was..alone.
My cubemate, Kristin, was not around…this was good because I didn’t have to listen to her babbling on and on and on about health care and tea parties and shit like that because she’s a psycho Republican and I may or may not be a Republican as well but I don’t really remember who I voted for but it probably wasn’t Obama because I live in New Hampshire and I don’t think they allow us to vote for black people.
It’s in our state constitution.
That may be wrong.
As I’m sitting there…minding my own business…
Kristin comes BOLTING into the cube.
Still standing, she looks at me and says:
(brace for it)
Kristin: “Is there blood on the back of my pants?”
What. The fuck.
Of all the fucking things to ask a guy, ladies, do NOT – UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES – ask him to verify if you have goddamn PERIOD BLOOD (OMG OMG OMG I’m going to throw up just typing that) ON. YOUR. ASS.
Never ever ever ever NEVER.
She then spun around.
I mean, seriously..she’s showing me her ass. How do I NOT look?
Me: “I don’t see any.”
Kristin: “Your eyes are closed.”
Me: “I’m finding this the best method right now to LOOK FOR BLOOD FROM YOUR VAGINA ON YOUR PANTS thankyouverymuch.”
Kristin: “Seriously..is there blood there? It all just came gush..”
Me: “LALALALALALA…FINE. Fine.”
I tried to open my eyes but I believe that somehow I managed to squeeze them together so tightly that they fused shut. This is similar to the effect marriage has on a woman’s vagina but with much less NAGGING.
I squinted them open and looked.
Nothing but Kristin ass.
Me: “No. There’s nothing.”
Kristin: “Good. It just came flooding out and I tried to get a pad but..”
It’s at this point that I jammed a pencil in my ear and then eventually killed myself because MOTHER OF GOD SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP and now I’m writing this to you from my desk in Hell where I will burn for eternity while listening to William Hung’s CD over and over again while a constant loop of Fran Drescher laughing plays in the background and hundreds of tiny little Carrot Top clones pull my chest hairs out.
Way better than being asked about period stains and tampons and LALALALALALA sorry..sorry…I really really have to stop now.
THAT was Hell.
This is nothing.
For more TMI Thursday's, go visit Lilu over at Live it, Love it.
You'll laugh til you have blood coming out the back of your pants.
I'm going to throw up now.