The Other Kind of Throbbing

Yes, my little poony was quite the quivering seed for a while. Then things changed at rush hour. In the enormous span of, oh, about five minutes, the oh-so-sweet thumpthumpthump left 'the Y' and shot straight up to my head. In that familiar aura-surrounded, nausea(barf)-inducing, light-sensitive, fuckfuckfuckitsamigraine sort of way. Fuckfuckfuck. No more swang in my thang, only hoping I would make it home without yakking.

And what does THAT mean, my glorious friends?

What it seems to mean to more and more of my fellow females, as we age and bear offspring and generally fall apart...My Aunt Is Coming To Town. And not the cool Aunt Sheila that takes you shopping and buys you lunch...I mean the angry red aunt who screws up your sex life for 5, 7, 8 days, who punches you in the abdomen and then laughs in your face as you reach for the Motrin, who sneaks up on you in the nighttime and soils your undies, and makes you buy chocolate and wine and twinkies instead of a wholesome dinner. THAT aunt. I fucking hate that cunt.

My solace is that by tomorrow, the whoosh of sicky-tummy and tight stocking cap full o' whoop ass will be gone, and I'll have a good week or so before the angry red aunt visits to fuck my husband...proper fuck. 'Cause if I squeeze my eyes shut and take a cleansing breath, I can picture him behind me doing that thing that so permeated my shower thoughts last night. Maybe THAT would make my headache go away.... I'll let y'all know.