6:15am: Alarm clock wakes me and I gently punch the snooze repeatedly until I feel it has learned its lesson.
6:40am: Today is the day I’m going to have to commit to my new Diva Cup. A gush rouses me from my white linens. My first words of the day are ‘fuck you fucking period’. It’s going to be a long one.
6:41am: While holding the instructions to my new silicone implant, I try to read the two-point font without my reading glasses while straddling the bowl like a toddler being held over the toilet while his mother screams ‘Poop already!’
6:43am: I jam enough toilet tissue in wads to get me from the toilet to the reading glasses somewhere in the house. Likely near the microwave beside yesterday’s coffee.
6:48am: Reheat yesterday’s coffee and stare at the countdown wearing reading glasses on my head and my eyes.
7:05am: Finish my coffee and the lovely Diva reading material. I’m ready for my mission.
7:15am: Ready now. Well, after I watch Colbert on the PVR.
8:15am: Ok, now. Well, after I lie down.
9:35am: Shit! The levees have broken.
9:36am: Quick review of the owner’s manual and I’m back in the toilet. Deep breath, I’m going in.
9:45am: I emerge from the toilet, sweating and victorious. As I walk with my hand in the air like a doctor off the scrub line, I feel a pencil coming from my labia. I reach into my pants with my clean hand and feel ‘the nub’. I utter my third fuck of the day.
9:50am: I reach four fucking fingers into my orifice and yank with no luck. I return to the toilet and put a foot on the seat, clench my teeth, insert my thumb and three fingers to get a good hold and yank with a twist. That didn’t go as planned. I over vectored and now I need to clean the toilet seat and floor. But first, off to trim the fucking nub.
10:00am: At the sink, I rinse my fucking Diva. Cold, then hot. The new white sink still looks pink. Add soap, no change. Are my eyes wrecked? I get my readers and the bleach spray and go to work to out those damn spots.
10:15am: Nub trim complete. I don’t even get to the toilet, I jam the fucker inside my gapping blood tunnel and turn it to lock in place. As I lean over to wash my hands, I feel the fucking nub creating a natural thigh gap forcing me to stand like a Western star.
10:19-10:45am: Remove the fucking Diva. Don’t clean the sink or my hands. Trim the fucking nub. Reinsert and twist. Repeat.
10:46am: Feel fucking nub like a horned owl birthing from my snatch. Use both hands to remove the offending object from my cervix to which it has finally bonded. “No, you fucking don’t!”
11:00am: Throw the fucker in the rubbish and jam more rolled up tissue in my granny panties.
11:03am: Dispose of silicon nightmare in the compactor and give it a one-finger salute, aptly still covered in blood.
11:15am: Wrestle a nighttime maxi pad from its plastic wrap, affix it to my soiled undergarments, dispose of the wrapper by throwing it with gusto on the floor, and survey the ensuite. It resembles a crime scene. I close the door and get into my jammies to watch Bridgerton.
11:45am—5:55pm: Binging Bridgerton to take my mind off the mess when a scene jogs my memory. “Why is that girl using all those lovely tissues for her rag?” My husband comes home.
5:58pm: What the fuck happened here? I hear my husband’s fearful disgust from upstairs.
5:59pm: “Oh yeah. Sorry. Was trying to be a Diva and I guess my lady-in-waiting forgot to clean up. Be a dear, will ya? I’ve got a few more episodes here. The bleach spray should be by the sink.”
6:00pm: Realize I am not woman enough for the Diva Cup, but I’m still woman enough to enjoy the Duke.