I don’t know why I get hit so hard at this particular time of the month. For most women, the monthly fun happens right before the beginning of their period. For me, it happens in the middle of my cycle. This makes it especially challenging since I’m now peri-menopausal and have no idea when all this ovulation stuff happens. Not that there’s any ideal time to have to deal with lady cramps, but certainly the middle of a book tour is definitely not the best timing.
When all this started a couple of years ago, I decided I really needed to put a name to my discomfort. So I christened my left ovary, Jezebel, and my right ovary, Medusa.
“Medusa is mad today,” I would tell my husband one month.
“Sorry to hear that,” he would respond looking stricken. “Should I take the kids and the dog and go live in a hotel for a couple of days?”
“That would be a smart move,” I would warn him.
Then I would go hunt down Ibuprofen and peanut butter cups and get into bed with a heating bad, because everyone knows that heat and chocolate are the only thing that helps pacify the evil Ovulation Fairy.
Meanwhile, back on my book tour, I was getting ready to go speak at a bookstore when Jezebel got her panties in a bunch.
“Really?” I yelled at her. “You have to get all huffy now? You couldn’t wait until tomorrow when the only thing I have to do is a phone interview?”
I jumped up and down hoping that if I shook everything up, it might shock Jezebel, Medusa, and Ursula the Uterus Witch into silence. Sadly, those things are hooked in there pretty tight. I decided that there is a design flaw in the female sex organs. After you have made up your mind that you are done having kids, everything should just fall out.
Of course I also have this wish that you could just flatten cellulite with a rolling pin and turn a hidden crank to lift sagging post-nursing boobs back up to your chest where they belong instead of down near your belly button where they ended up… but that’s another essay.
With the clock ticking toward my appearance, I sucked down some meds and headed off to the bookstore. As I got to the store, I saw a bunch of women waiting for me to do my reading.
“We are so excited for you to be here,” said the owner of the store. “We brought in some wine and cheese for everyone to make it special.”
“It looks lovely,” I exclaimed, grimacing slightly as another cramp kicked in. “This cheese spread is gorgeous! Where did it come from?”
The owner smiled proudly. “A wonderful little cheese shop called “Jezebel’s!”
About the Writer
Tracy Beckerman is a Comic Relief Writer for Aiming Low. She is also a syndicated humor columnist and the author of the new book, “Lost in Suburbia: A Momoir. How I Got Pregnant, Lost Myself, and Got My Cool Back in the New Jersey Suburbs” (2013, Perigee Books). To order a copy of her book, CLICK HERE.