By Olivia Coady and Julia Sullivan
“And yes, your entire pelvic floor crumbles and you get f***ing hot and no one cares, but then you’re free, no longer a slave, no longer a machine with parts. You’re just a person.” Fleabag, Season 2, Episode 3
My uterus must have completely evaporated into dust because during my Lyft ride home late last night, my driver didn’t ask if I was currently seeing anyone and I didn’t have to lie and say I live with my brother and/or male cousin who box or do Crossfit professionally.
I need to start wearing two-winged panty liners for any continual spotting, because I was just presented with a distinguished award and ‘woman’ was nowhere in the title.
My uterus must have shed itself for the final time and slithered right on out because at a recent family gathering, I sat on my ass watching the basketball game as my brother graciously balanced cleaning up from the meal and preparing dessert (a raspberry cream tart).
I should purchase 12 of those 4 ft. fans currently for sale on QVC (6 easy payments of 29.99) for all my upcoming hot flashes because I felt encouraged to ask questions during a male coworker’s presentation and the room didn’t feel like I was harping or being nitpicky.
Time to start packing tissues as a precaution to any mood swings because when a new acquaintance asked about my five-year plan, they didn’t make any quips about my partner and I “popping any Tasmanian devils out” anytime soon.
I must be within 20 feet of a bathroom at all times in case of laughter, a lot of consumed water or just because my actual uterus may plop straight out of me because I just heard the 2016 remake of Ghostbusters be referred to as just Ghostbusters.
I should stop wearing white pants for the next year or so in case of any unexpected light bleeding because Amazon didn’t email a monthly reminder to re-purchase a “SABRE RED Pepper Spray Keychain with Quick Release for Easy Access – Max Police Strength OC Spray, Finger Grip for Accurate Aim, 10-Foot (3M) Range, 25 Bursts (5x Other Brands) – Practice Spray Option.”
I have to invest in a plastic bed liner to prepare for the inevitable night sweats, because no one advised me to downplay my recent promotion to prevent my partner from feeling emasculated.
I need to research if there are any organizations that would benefit from clean, unused contraceptive products since I no longer need them because the deli guy was loudly pushing Boar’s Head’s new Robust Italian Chicken Sausage to all patrons.
My eggs have to be as dry and shriveled as the dead ficus I keep forgetting to water in my office because I could unclench my butt cheeks in panic after my boss finished a statement declaring that I’m “funny for being…” with “from Cleveland.”
Vaginal estrogen is not cheap, so I must start saving now because the mechanic didn’t gaslight me by claiming my car was having “complicated engine problems” when I brought it in for a literal nail sticking out of the tire.
Supposedly I am at a higher risk of osteoporosis now, so I need to load up on Vitamin D because my 5-year-old niece assumed I was a doctor or an astronaut, and not a princess. And I should really double down on dosages because she told me I could hypothetically be whatever I want because gendered norms and expectations are archaic and nonsensical–she said I could be a king if I truly wanted.
I must have aged to be somewhere between the ages of 45-55 (if going by averages, odds are I am 51 years old), because I told my friends I was going for a run after work and no one reminded me to bring my rape whistle.
I should just cover my entire body in lube because today I was reflecting on the beauty of womanhood and felt the innate urge to phone my own mother and tell her that… I see her, and I respect her.
I should ask everyone in my life to start wearing name tags with three other key-identifiers in case of any memory lapses, because the construction guys working next to my favorite Starbucks have stopped yelling “hot cappuccino” when I walk by. I guess I’ll never know exactly what that meant.
Hook me up to an IV full of cranberry juice as a precaution to any pesky UTIs because I just found out I’m making a whopping $1 on the dollar compared to my company’s unpaid male intern, Tom.
I’d better start popping estrogen pills like Tic Tacs, because a strange elderly man called me “ma’am” instead of “honey” or “sweetie.”
It’s been a week since someone has told me that I “really should smile more,” so no more clutches for me! I have to invest in a bigger purse now that I have to carry my blood pressure cuff around with me at all times.
“It is is horrendous, but then it’s magnificent. Something to look forward to.” Fleabag, Season 2, Episode 3