Here's something I wrote when I was just trying to make it through the day. Try not to judge a book by its cover, you never know what a person is going through. Wink, wink!
Are you there, God? What the Hell?
Who remembers the book, “Are You There, God It’s Me, Margaret”? If you have not endured the tortuous saga of little Margaret praying to God every day for her period as well as for breasts to fill out her bra, then ladies, I must request that you stop what you are doing and immerse yourself into the head of a prepubescent girl.
This book was given to every adolescent girl between the ages of ten and twelve. I am certain, that our mothers systematically passed this book around to every preteen in the neighborhood. Obviously, this was their way of relinquishing their responsibility of educating their daughters on the facts of life. So, for that, I need to give a shout out to Judy Blume for teaching every one of us just what a period was and why we would want to fill out our bras. And it is for that same reason that I’ve decided that Ms. Blume bring little Margaret back to the forefront with a sequel, titled “God Are You Still There? It’s Me, Margaret, What the Hell?”
Let us follow up on sweet, naive Margaret thirty-five years later. I am confident that if she knew what torture she was bestowing upon herself in each prayer she recited, she would say, “OH, HELL NO! Screw this shit, you bitches are on your own!” Here she sits, older, wiser, sweatier, heavier, exhausted, and angrier! So, what is it that brought me to this conclusion?
Well, one day, a typical day in the life and times of yours truly, a menopausal woman. That’s right, I said it, menopausal! I was going to run the vacuum. It was July, so the temperature was a bit warmer than maybe a woman in my condition would be comfortable with. But hey, it’s eight-thirty in the morning, how bad could it be?"
I got up off my couch and began my preparation. I retrieved the beast from its lair and began in the family room. And hey, so far so good. I proceeded through the remainder of the house, but by the time I had reached the final leg of my expedition, Niagara Falls somehow managed to pour out from my head. I was ringing wet… WHAT THE HELL! So, I ask you this, my friends, Margaret, and of course, Judy Blume, when did vacuuming become a water sport?