It’s a Party. Period.

throwing-a-period-party-1280x960I got an invitation to a Period Party. As a writer – well, in the loosest interpretation of that word – I thought I’d been invited to a fun little soiree involving punctuation and editing marks. My brain was so busy trying to decide which red gel pen I’d take as a hostess gift that it took a while to realize this wasn’t what the invitation was at all. I’d actually been invited to a party to “Celebrate and Welcome” a ten-year old girl into womanhood.

Maybe it’s because I raised boys. Maybe it’s because I’m older, but I honestly thought it was a joke. But no, for some bizarro reason, Period Parties are a thing. Now, I don’t want to be indelicate here, but as I run the memory reel back several decades to when I started my period, I don’t remember wanting to have a big, public party that included neighbor ladies I barely knew.

No, I was mortified at the realization that I was being forced against my will towards adulthood (I recognize now, a wise instinct) and that my credibility as a hard-core Tomboy was going to be increasingly compromised. To make it all worse, my older brother cemented my mortification in place by teasing me unmercifully. Poor thing, he had such little practical experience with PMS, but that’d come later. Basically, happy, carefree life as I’d known it was officially over. This was a reason to sob in my room, not throw a party.

While the struggle to overcome my curiosity to witness firsthand what must surely be an indication of the fall of our society, I’m going to find a polite way to decline the invitation. That there simply is no party-appropriate wrapping paper for whatever impossible gift I might find (what the heck do you even take to such a party), I know myself well enough to admit I’d never get through the event without making way too many inappropriate jokes. Let’s blame that back on my brother.

Instead, I think I’ll throw myself a menopause party. I’ll invite all my friends who will show up in comfortable clothes, bring lots of wine, fight for the best spot under the ceiling fan, and collectively not care about what anyone else has to say about it. And it will be the best party ever. Period.

7 Comments

Filed under Much Ado About Nothing

7 responses to “It’s a Party. Period.

  1. Tracy

    It’s official. I have now heard EVERYthing. Thx for educating me and making “it” funny! Oh brother. Make that sister. (Insert eye roll here!)

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Cindy

    Invite me to your party. I’ll bring my own fan and wine!

    Liked by 1 person

  3. Teresa

    Hahahahahaha! That is hilarious! I though, was a late bloomer. I longed for it to happen. Finally age 14! 👀😬😱

    Like

  4. Wow. Curating for the tribe.

    Like

  5. Pingback: It’s a Party. Period. | thewriterjean – Empty Nest Man

  6. Sherri

    As always, I love your your stories. But this one… it had me laughing so hard that I cried! Who knew Period Parties were a real thing? Thank you for enlightening and educating me on this matter. It gives me yet one more reason to be thankful I birthed only boys!

    P.S. – I would really appreciate an invitation to your menopause party! How fantastic to be in a group of others who really and truly understand what we women go through. Since I do live with only males, I can assure you I receive little to no sympathy or understanding whatsoever for the constant and extreme fluctuation in my weight, my moods, and my core body temperature! Girl Power! Woohoo! (Insert eye roll here)

    Liked by 1 person

  7. Carolyn Kessler

    Thanks for bringing me into the modern or better, postmodern age. Who would have ever thought there’d be such parties! You handled it wisely. I’m glad to get one of your essays I missed one recently that had under your name your article had been removed because it had. Sensitive material! Such comments always leave me curious. Are you in TX or in MI at this time?

    Like

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