As I believe most women would agree, those five horribly long days before Aunt Flow appears with all her charm and loveliness, are downright torturous. Everyone has their own personal suffering to trudge through. For some it is the cramps. For some it is the breast tenderness. For some it is the fatigue.
What’s my favorite part you ask (or don’t, like my name is Carebear Gives-Two-Shits)?
For me it is the irritability [who didn't see that one coming]. I have to give those guys at Pamprin a large and in charge shout out as their maximum strength formula really does the trick. Takes the edge off, makes me put the cutlery away, gives me a little boost to combat the fatigue … totally fawesome.
I do have one itty-bitty, tiny, quick question. If you are producing a product marketed solely to women who are PMS-ing, why the fuck do they make it so damned impossible to get the pills out?
First the box is held together with glue pissed straight from the bronze penis of Zeus. It holds with fervor unmatched among mere mortals. You are scratching at the edges of this bitch for 10 minutes before, in a tornado of scraps and hair ripped willingly from one’s own head, you get one side open just enough to pull the bottle out. Mind you, not without paper-cutting yourself and creating what will no doubt be a horrid hangnail in about a week.
Then, after struggling with the box for 15 minutes, you think you are in the home stretch. You know that within seconds you will have four (was gonna take two but now am so enraged four is a better figure) sliding down your throat, hitting the tummy bile just in time to stop you from strangling your cat while punching babies with your free hand.
Sad thing is … you would be wrong. Your relief is nowhere in sight sister!! So far down the road all you can see are the hazy waves created from the summer heat and asphalt glare.
Because now you have to get the bottle open.
How is it not war games to seal a bottle, again created for people on the edge of a nervous freaking breakdown, to a point where the only thing that will penetrate the silver foil is the tip of a sharp knife. Think it smart to place a knife into the hands of a woman who is about to bleed for 5 days/nights, knows she is acting like a serial killer and wants to kick a puppy?
I’m going with a “no” on that one!
All the while you chant to yourself, “I’m going to get it open soon, I’m going to get it open soon, just relax, RELAX”. Finally, by the grace of the gods, you pierce the silver seal and breath a sigh of relief. So sad that now you have to remove a ball of cotton that moves further down into the bottle with each attempt to remove it.
Son.Of.A.Bitch!!!
You are left with a woman standing in a dimly lit kitchen, sweating profusely, with a melon baller in one hand and a half-empty bottle of Pamprin in the other hand as half those pretty white caplets of joy flew out and landed on the floor in your final attempt to get that damned cotton ball created by the demons of hell outta that tiny opening with only one thing left to do.
Cry.
I love you Pamprin.
Oh and one more thing Pamprin – go fuck yourself!!
