We meet again, my old menses-nemesis. This is starting to become a pattern.
Sure, back when I was getting porked on the regs, your monthly visit had a novelty "guess who's still not preggo" factor to it, which at the time was something of a slutty relief. But now that I'm getting less action than the map room at Sherri Shepherd's house (seriously, I am considering converting my vajizzer to a parking pad so I can at least collect a few bob, if I ain't gettin no knob), the little uterine jazz hands you keep shaking with every moon cycle are really unnecessary.
And from a financial perspective - as well as a laundry one - this whole "2 hours per 'pon" situation has really GOT to stop.
Riding a serious heme-depletion bummer,