You’ll Die. Period.

This is the true story of a very heartwarming moment I had with my dad when I was twelve. He doesn’t like me to tell this story because he doesn’t want it revealed to the world that he’s a heathen, but I feel inclined to share it with everyone I know.

When I was twelve, I started my period in Literature class and had no flippin idea what was going on. I had heard some of the girls talk about this secret club they were in, but I was pretty sure this wasn’t it, because who’d wanna be in that shitty club?

Back in the day, we didn’t get sex ed or health class until later, so I didn’t recall hearing anything about this particular phenomena. I was scared.

So I went home and my dad was lounging in his favorite chair. The conversation went something like this:

Me: “Dad, I need to go to the doctor.”

Dad: “What’s wrong?”

Me: “I’m bleeding.”

He looks up, interested. “Where?”

Me: “Uhhh…” I kind of look down. Then back up at him.

He leans up in his chair, very slowly, restraining a half-assed smile. “Uhh…shit. Don’t tell me they haven’t talked about this at school.”

Me: “Talked about what?”

Dad: “Son of a bitch.” He laughs for what seemed like a really long time. “Well sit down.”

He leaves and returns with my childhood toys. What were once called pirates and ships had now apparently become tampons and pads. Suddenly I realized why my mom got onto me when I played with them on the front porch. Because they were a part of something evil. Tampons and Ouija boards…not to be fucked with.

So my dad tells me a little something about each of them and then goes into appropriate detail on the basic mechanics of how this stuff works. He then assures me he doesn’t know the specifics about the fancy ones, like the ones that have wings and such. He tells me I’ll have to take that up with my mother, but for now this should do.

I guess he thought he was done. That that was the grand finale of this conversation, but I’m sorry. This was a blow to the plans I had for my life. I’m twelve and this thing is bullshit. I had questions!

Me: “Why am I having this?”

scared girl

Dad: “Beats the shit out of me. All girls have it.”

Me: “Till when?”

Dad: “Every month. Till you get old.”

Me: “What?! Why?!”

Dad: “Didn’t you ever read the story about Adam and Eve?”

Me: “That story was about a snake and an apple.”

Dad: “Nothing gets by you.”

Me: “I don’t get it.”

Dad: “Well that’s just the way it goes. First your money, then your clothes.”

Me: “What?

Dad: “Anyway, do you have any more questions?”

I did have another question. It was the most important question I had ever asked in my life, and my dad would be the person to answer it. We were about to make a memory.

Me: “Well Dad. Does your blood replace itself?”

He looks me straight in the eye.

Dad: “No. After a few more of these, you’ll die.”

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20 thoughts on “You’ll Die. Period.”

  1. My memories of being introduced to the wonderful world of menstruation are very vague. I remember a very serious look on my grandmother’s face when she saw a spot of blood in my underwear. I also kindasorta vaguely remember my Mom and a book. Other than that, the memory has been wiped out, maybe for good reason.

    In eighth grade, we Catholic school kids were subjected to the typical hygiene films. The boys stayed in the classroom and the girls went into the auditorium, so obviously we got different movies. The girls’ movie finally explained to me why I had to bleed every month when I hadn’t injured myself. It didn’t make it any easier, but at least there was a reason.

    1. Yeah…8th grade. I think that’s when we got the good news too. I wasn’t impressed with the way they handled the news. Of course, I imagine they expected that someone in the family would probably warn us as well, but no such luck.

  2. My thoughts when my woman is on her period:

    Ow, that sure looks painful.
    Did she just drop her vagina on the floor?
    I sure hope she doesn’t die.
    Note to self: buy another pair of those cute panties she just ruined.
    I hope she doesn’t kill herself!
    God I’m glad I was born a boy.
    God I’m glad she was born a girl.
    I know she hates me right now and I think she’s well on her way to hating all of you too.
    “NO you didn’t ruin the sheets or the mattress. Everything’s OK! Go to the bathroom and I’ll change the sheets and put a towel down…of course, one of my towels…everything’s OK…

    1. LMAO!
      Sounds like you’re a smart guy. One word of advice though; don’t try to pick the vagina up for her when she drops it on the floor. It’s best to just try to blend in to your surroundings at that point, but I guess you know that!

      1. Wha…YEA I know that! Holy Joseph and Mary…never never never never never never NE-VER NEV-ER NEVER…Pick up a dropped vagina. You disappear-swift and silent like a dog who just pooped inside a newly purchased pair of Jimmy Choo pumps.
        If a man doesn’t know that rule…psssh, he WILL.

  3. On those Progressive Insurance ads, why does “Flo” always wear a white smock? Wouldn’t red be more…

    Sorry, skip that. Can I cancel this comment?

    Your dad sounds adorable.

    1. You’re comment is so interesting because my dad also has a giant crush on Flo.
      He just left my house a few minutes ago. My niece was playing with her barbies and he said, “Barbies are what makes girls lesbians.” All I have the energy to do anymore is just shake my head.

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