“I have never seen one,” I replied in my ‘usual’ nonchalant tone. “How does that one look like? Do the whiskers stand up in protest, or something??”
“I don’t know, never seen one either, but your face makes me believe I have.” He responded, taking up the seat next to me. “But seriously, what’s up? You don’t seem fine.” He added nudging me in the ribs.
Well, I was far from fine! It was that time of the month when my uterus and all its neighboring organs gang up against me for denying them the opportunity to nurture an egg (my egg!) into a fully grown baby! Selfish pricks!! Like they will still babysit it for me after it’s delivered!
Their punishment for me was menstrual cramps. These make my tummy feel like a playground for some good for nothing rowdy teenagers who know nothing about the rules of rugby but still choose to give it a try.
The fat one with really round cheeks throws the ball to the left, and the one with the big oval-shaped head gives a jump for it but misses.
It hits the uterine walls, and there goes the first spasm…it lasts a while, then dissipates slowly.
The one with the chipped front tooth now kicks the freaking ball to the right and the one with the big head doesn’t catch it, again! Why is he even still playing?!
It hits the walls closest to my back! It feels like someone erected a metal rod down my spine.
I shift in my chair and finally find a comfortable posture. It is the one where my waist is inclined to my work table at 45 degree, obliquely.
Someone walks into the room and whatever they want from me requires me to get up from my desk, from my posture!
I get up, nod at whatever they are saying….can’t wait for them to get out. They finally leave.
Someone else walks in….and another…! These people just want me to stick up a sign saying — CRAMPING, DON’T DISTURB!!!!!
I finally get to sit down again, the pain is now only mild.
Maybe the kids have realised a career in rugby for them is as likely as it is for Museveni to step down from his presidency.
Or maybe the Olfen has started working.
Three hours later when that guy with the funny stupid face asked what was wrong with me…I wanted to tell him all that! I wanted him to know what I mean whenever I say I have menstrual cramps. I wanted him to know that it is not just me being a pussy — cramps are the worst! I wanted him to feel what I was feeling three hours ago. But I knew he couldn’t, and I knew he would never understand.
So I merely replied, “I’M FINE.”