First wake up at 615 am to go to Boot Camp. Grumble, bitch, and proceed to wake your husband up with all the commotion of getting dressed.
Hear his muffled laughter
Choke down whole wheat english muffin with organic/natural PB. Slosh down Gatorade down your gullet.
Realize you are having serious cramps…go to the bathroom to, uh, you know- and realize Aunt Flo is what is being such a ‘pain in the ass’ Grumble and bitch more when you realize there is not a tampon in the house. (doctor’s orders, pads only)
Hear more male giggling (FROM HIS DAMN PILLOW!!!)
Go to boot camp. Do the “gimp” exercises b/c your calves are STILL in knots.
Start getting frustrated…um, and worried about that pad…You are sweating A LOT!!!
Finish work out. Drive home.
Get out of car and notice you left a little of Aunt Flo on your LEATHER SEATS!! BITCH just can’t stay put!
Freak out a little. You have on grey capris. Wonder when Aunt Flo started her vacation from the cushy pad??!?!
Go into house to take shower……..this is where the trickiness starts.
Recipe for Panic Attack:
- One very sweaty, um, HEALTHY girl
- add a large amount of Aunt Flo- eager to get the ball rolling the minute the pad is gone.
- peel one sports bra….entirely too small
Start with peeling the sports bra very quickly- don’t worry, it won’t happen ANY time soon. Aunt Flo will then decide that she wants to see if your tile is really clean or not. Your arms will get contorted and pretty much STUCK as you try and get that damn bra off. You don’t want to leave the bathroom to get scissors b/c then Aunt Flo will have to check out the ENTIRE HOUSE..(you have white carpets)..you are too contorted and fucked up with the bra all crazy stuck on your sweaty, doughy, rolly flesh to get pants on anyways………then you feel it.
Full on panic.
Enjoy the Panic.
This is the time that I am SURE Google maps would be driving by my house and I would end up as an Internet icon. 🙂
***I don’t just get panic attacks. Honestly- but confinement is a HUGE trigger. I did okay in an MRI, I can do elevators(pretty much)….it is being physically unable to move that gets me.
I finally got the damn bra off and threw it in the trash.