I wish someone would start a Period box subscription service in Zimbabwe .
You probably think I’m crazy ,I mean here I am ,sitting on my couch with a massive unfinished double beef burger (yep,it has cheese) staring at me daring me to finish it while I type on my laptop like a beta version of Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie,but I am allowed to wish aren’t I ?
Seriously though ,there should be bars of chocolates in boxes of sanitary pads and tampons .I mean ,wouldn’t you pick the pack that has a healthy dose of dark chocolate ,an ice cream voucher and a sweet note that says something insane like ‘don’t ovary-act’ .Of course,you would. Dark chocolate would compensate for the ‘roller-coaster ride that feels like a car ride with Vin Diesel in Fast 8 minus the seat belt *ouch*
Don’t get me wrong,I totally indulge myself and treat myself -what else is going to comfort me when my skin is breaking out like a budding teen and I am bloated every thirty minutes ? The worst part of the whole experience is the guy that thinks PMSing is like getting a natural high from cuddling your bae .Unless your bae is a cactus ,we definitely are talking about the same thing *rolls eye*
So if bae was here this would probably be the message I would send to him in my head :
I love you but stay out of the way while I go buy myself some Chicken& Mushroom Pizza ,3 bottles of Maheu and then come home and cry myself a Mukuvisi while watching Titanic. Don’t question me or compare my PMS to the absence of your beard-it’s not the same thing.
PMS is not a joke ,and the struggle is real. I am not a medical doctor or a student but I have watched Grey’s Anatomy which has no relevance to what I am talking about but I had to make it clear that I have no idea what causes PMS or what can make it better except what Google Bae told me .
With that said ,I am off to make some green tea .