Helga in a HASMAT suit
I once watched a documentary where they asked women if their vagina had a name, mood or outfit what would it be and all these women were going OMG a sparkly pink dress, it would be cutie patootie and it would totally drink mai tai's with cute umbrellas and it’s called Tiffani spelt with an "I" that has a heart for the dot
Mine it seems would be wearing a HASMAT suit and called Helga the barbarian bitch and would glare at everyone and demand bourbon straight from the bottle.
It’s not a happy pink sparkly place, my vagina would kick Tiffani’s pink ass and then demand more bourbon.
right now it’s a hostile place much like the surface of Venus, pretty to look at but you really don’t want to go anywhere near it.
As you can guess things are not going well in the world of female pinkness, my own body is attacking me and my hormones which are guiding Helga are in full on riot these days. I’m so cranky from lack of sleep and get pain every damn day and night, it’s now at the point where I’m either going to burst into tears or maybe punch someone. (Though I think my brain has a healthy safety valve which says no don’t punch people because feminine hygiene products in jail are not cool and you may have to trade favours to get extras).
people coming to my house are now usually greeted by me laid out on the floor with a wheat bag and chanting monks bellowing out the sound system, no I can’t get you a cup of tea as I’m currently imagining blue fairy lights hovering over my knackered out ovary and the monks are keeping me sane and from going to jail.
then I think of the cost of helping Helga out , the average woman would spend £18 on assorted feminine hygiene products per month, (don’t even get me started on the VAT-I really would be in jail from sheer anger- but deep breath -ohmmmmm)
so nope not me, mine average out at double that as I don't have that cheery as advertised 3-5 day cycle where I’m like wooohooo I’m surfin, I’m smiling, I’m roller skating bitch!!
My bathroom cupboard is not full of pink pretty cosmetics and lotions, it’s stacked full of tampons, pant liners, feminine washes and douches and wipes -it’s industrial in there - open at your peril or get avalanched by tampons.
And does Helga care? No she fucking does not - I have slipped into insanity here by talking about my vagina in the third person - cheers hormones I am now certifiably insane).
Anyway Helga is like, pant liner? pah I will get through that in like 5 minutes - P.S where is the fucking bourbon!!
Every time I have to go see someone medical Helga pulls out all the stops, and puts the barricades up, no one is coming near her on that particular day so we re-arrange stuff and Helga calms down, only to go into full on melt down at the next appointment.
It’s exhausting its tiring its making me mad.
but here we get to the fun part, Helga boss - my right ovary is hell, it’s a fiery bubbling bursting hell , it’s not wishing for bourbon it wants bourbon and vodka and chocolate and painkillers and hot baths and French fries and toast and rum , it's demanding and psychopathic.
It dictates everything Helga does on a daily basis, it’s the reason Helga needs a HASMAT suit and wants to drink bourbon.
So yep if you don’t hear from me for a while either Helga has gone on a full rampage and I’m in hospital or I’m in jail.
Mine it seems would be wearing a HASMAT suit and called Helga the barbarian bitch and would glare at everyone and demand bourbon straight from the bottle.
It’s not a happy pink sparkly place, my vagina would kick Tiffani’s pink ass and then demand more bourbon.
right now it’s a hostile place much like the surface of Venus, pretty to look at but you really don’t want to go anywhere near it.
As you can guess things are not going well in the world of female pinkness, my own body is attacking me and my hormones which are guiding Helga are in full on riot these days. I’m so cranky from lack of sleep and get pain every damn day and night, it’s now at the point where I’m either going to burst into tears or maybe punch someone. (Though I think my brain has a healthy safety valve which says no don’t punch people because feminine hygiene products in jail are not cool and you may have to trade favours to get extras).
people coming to my house are now usually greeted by me laid out on the floor with a wheat bag and chanting monks bellowing out the sound system, no I can’t get you a cup of tea as I’m currently imagining blue fairy lights hovering over my knackered out ovary and the monks are keeping me sane and from going to jail.
then I think of the cost of helping Helga out , the average woman would spend £18 on assorted feminine hygiene products per month, (don’t even get me started on the VAT-I really would be in jail from sheer anger- but deep breath -ohmmmmm)
so nope not me, mine average out at double that as I don't have that cheery as advertised 3-5 day cycle where I’m like wooohooo I’m surfin, I’m smiling, I’m roller skating bitch!!
My bathroom cupboard is not full of pink pretty cosmetics and lotions, it’s stacked full of tampons, pant liners, feminine washes and douches and wipes -it’s industrial in there - open at your peril or get avalanched by tampons.
And does Helga care? No she fucking does not - I have slipped into insanity here by talking about my vagina in the third person - cheers hormones I am now certifiably insane).
Anyway Helga is like, pant liner? pah I will get through that in like 5 minutes - P.S where is the fucking bourbon!!
Every time I have to go see someone medical Helga pulls out all the stops, and puts the barricades up, no one is coming near her on that particular day so we re-arrange stuff and Helga calms down, only to go into full on melt down at the next appointment.
It’s exhausting its tiring its making me mad.
but here we get to the fun part, Helga boss - my right ovary is hell, it’s a fiery bubbling bursting hell , it’s not wishing for bourbon it wants bourbon and vodka and chocolate and painkillers and hot baths and French fries and toast and rum , it's demanding and psychopathic.
It dictates everything Helga does on a daily basis, it’s the reason Helga needs a HASMAT suit and wants to drink bourbon.
So yep if you don’t hear from me for a while either Helga has gone on a full rampage and I’m in hospital or I’m in jail.
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aggravated
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