FOR HALF A SECOND, I was thrust back into middle school. Hiding in the bathroom the day my period started, knowing our gym teacher wouldn’t give me a pass for the cramps that rolled over me in waves.
“You’ll deal with menstrual difficulties approximately four hundred and forty-four times over the course of your lives, ladies,” Mrs. Bailey told us on our first day. Her red tennis shoes matched her track suit, and I couldn’t help wondering if she’d worn them on purpose to remind us of menstrual blood. “Only losers give in to the pain. I don’t teach losers.”
After that, I’d watched other girls’ grades drop from As to Bs for succumbing to the red tide. Each time, I’d rolled my eyes and agreed with Mrs. Bailey. Those girls needed to suck it up and deal...until it was my own turn to handle the
