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Amelia
Some days you’re fighting to keep your composure while your ex plays mind games with you, and other days you’re hiding in a hotel bathroom at Nashville’s wedding of the year, praying no one saw the period stain on your dress. Today, I’m doing both.
And because my life is a complete mess right now, I don’t have a tampon.
“Shit,” I mutter as I give up on searching in my purse while also contemplating walking out of here with a stained dress. I should have worn the black dress I’d planned on rather than allowing my mother to get inside my head,again, and convince me pale pink was more appropriate.
I’m in the middle of spiraling into a full-blown round ofI Should Havewhen my phone buzzes with a text from my brother.
Tim:
How’s the wedding, sis? Have you slept with anyone yet? It’s a wedding. You’re legally allowed.
I relish the distraction from Periodgate and tap out a reply.
Me:
It was a beautiful wedding. Fun and down-to-earth. Not a single pretentious toast. James’s friends would have had a coronary. I’m ignoring the sex interrogation.
Colin:
Is Sarah having a great time?
Me:
She hasn’t stopped smiling. I’m really glad I brought her.
Colin:
Why haven’t we seen any photos? I imagine Mom is hanging for one of you in that pink dress.
Me:
I’m about to send her a photo of the massive period stain on said pink dress.
Tim:
OH MY GOD. I need this photo for the group chat.
Me:
I am never taking her advice again.
Colin:
Promise?
I sigh. This is a recurring conversation with my brothers. Me trying to extricate myself from my mother’s expectations; them encouraging me to finally do it.
Me:
Change of subject before I set my dress on fire.
Tim:
No pics of Period Barbie. Got it. Send one of the bride. She’s hot as fuck.