The Woman in my office welcomed me back from my day and a half in NYC and after I told her how everything went, she filled me in on how she was doing and how she's been having a rough couple of days herself, how her kids have been acting up, etc. How it was especially trying for her because, she muttered under her breath, "It's that time of the month."
You can imagine how it is to be in my line of work... actually maybe you can't. We're all fucking ragging at the same time. Indeed, she no longer finished the phrase "time of the month" that a dull ache sunk into my abdomen and I compiled a mental inventory of the date, what products I had at home, and what products I'd seen in the Women's room the last time it'd been stocked.
Sure enough.
Damn it.
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