The pussy mortgage
I realized the other day that my “monthly” bleeding has had approximately a 360 month run. That’s a 30-year term. Will I ever hold the deed to my pussy? Will Proctor & Gamble release the consumer stronghold it has on my bleed box?
I did some basic math and determined I’ve spent $2,156.50 on feminine products in my lifetime. That excludes the bushels of underwear I’ve ruined not to mention the sheets downgraded to never-for-guests. That figure excludes the iron pills I’ve had to take to keep from being anemic or the Ortho Novum 135s I’d take for period control. I’ve also excluded doctor office copays where I’d check in to see if there were any new medical developments to make the bleeding subside.
Thirty years later and not much has changed. I feel like a walking waterbed two days before. I want to kill humans and eat chocolate on day one. I want to sleep day two. I speculate on day three if my 40 box will last me.
Today I know that my feminine consumerism could of bought 15 kegs of good import beer, 70 tanks of gas, about four pairs of Manolo Blahnik’s, or more than 2,000 Kit Kat bars.
I’m ready for a reverse mortgage so I can buy back my life, my pussy, and something cool that doesn’t come with a cardboard applicator.