You take small breaks between sobs to eat a chocolate covered pretzel.
It doesn't really matter what you're crying about. Maybe you're still filled with rage that they killed off (old Downton Abbey spoiler alert!) Matthew on Downton Abbey and the only way you can truly express your frustration is through unadulterated tears.
Perhaps you've been on freaking level 65 of Candy Crush Saga for a week and your only options are to either crush your smart device with your bare hands or submit yourself to deep, satisfying sobs.
Either way, if in the middle of your wails, if you start rootin' around in a bag of chocolate covered pretzels, take heed and grab your surfboard. You're about to ride a crimson wave.
The only tampons in your house are out of their packaging. Covered in crumbs. At the bottom of your purse.
It's a universal law, like gravity or something. When you don't have any tampons in your house, you're going to start your period. As soon as you realize your peril, a light bulb dings above your head - Eureka! You have some in your purse! As you run to your purse digging through all of the 18 pockets, you finally pull out a few tampons along with a tube of honey lip balm, a pacifier and that spare house key you've been looking for for two years. Except, somehow, all of your tampons have managed to break through their freaking wrappers.
And applicators. Like it's a prison break.
So now you're left with cotton tubes covered in fishy cracker crumbs. And some goo you're tempted to sniff. Don't sniff it. And while I'm on the subject - what the heck tampon makers?! Get your crap together! We're literally keeping these things INSIDE our bodies and all you can offer us is a wrapper so thin it can float in the air like an astronaut in space? How much jostling could I possibly be doing in my purse that I manage to meticulously unwrap every tampon and gently slip the cotton through the applicator?
Well, now that I think of it, I have managed to create folders on my iPhone and put random apps into said folders all via outside pocket, so it's possible I do a lot of jostling. But still!
Today, out of all days, you decided to wear white. And new underwear.
Go ahead. Wear those sassy white pants. You might as well put on your brand new undies while you're at it, too. But if you do, don't come crying to me when you start your period on your way to work. Don't panic, you have a couple cotton tubes rolling around in fishy cracker dust at the bottom of your purse that you can put inside your person once you get there.
You can't stand the sight of your man's stupid face.
It's not fair and I'm not saying it's right, but when your man walks in and you can't stand the stupid sight of his stupid face, there's no doubt about it - your period just landed and it's on its way to baggage claim.
Is he eating a sandwich in the kitchen without ANY regard for your feelings? Does he have the audacity to talk to a relative on the phone without any consideration to the fact his voice sounds like sand paper on silk sheets? Is he asking where the broom is like an insensitive butthole? Grab the midol and an overnight bag - you need to get out of the house, STAT.
No one should be forced to live under these types of conditions. No one.
You're on a beach vacation. Or it's your wedding day. Or both. Probably both.
At some point we all need to realize that no matter how hard we try to plan our Caribbean vacation, wedding or pap smear, Flo is just waiting for us to choose a date so it can submit it's vacation days for a visit. Accept your fate and just buy an elastic wedding dress and a swimsuit robe.
And chocolate covered pretzels. Lots of chocolate covered pretzels.
This post was originally published on January 21, 2013.