Back in February, I celebrated the somewhat anticipated date that concluded my twenty-something year of living before rolling into the newest number added to the end of twenty-something. Least to say after scrolling back through the past 5 years of blog posts that have been written about and on my birthday (give or take a few), I could pinpoint the day when I stopped writing my actual age and started enjoying living life outside of a computer screen and textbook.
So when I woke up on the 21st of February, the lucky date I graced Earth with my presence and not the other way around, I promptly rolled over in my bed and pulled the covers over my head.
While lying under dual, thick and plush puffy white duvet, that had originally been purchased on my last serious pay check before going broke as a college student, I did my usual birthday ritual. Instead of sprinting out of bed like my underwear was on fire and there was a hot guy at my front door with a box of donuts (talk about a dream come true!), I spent the same amount of minutes as my birthday age, reflecting and thinking about how and where my life has gone.
The images of everything I had achieved, accomplished and crossed off my list with what can only be described as a sadistic grin to my face, each and every image all collapsed on top of themselves before giving way to what I had been doing exactly a year to the date.
Although school had resumed for those attending primary and secondary school and parents collapsed onto their driver’s seat with relief for they had 6 hours of pure silence, I was gearing up to commence my first and second last semester of college.
With a relatively small shopping list already tucked away into my school bag and the deadline of writing blog posts to bank for an emergency was my only concern for the mean time. I started my semester knowing that in just a few short and yet, incredibly mentally draining and long months, I would be closing this chapter of my life while being surrounded by family and friends.
Surrounded by pillows and rejoicing in the luxurious feeling you get when rubbing newly shaven legs against freshly, washed sheets (bliss!), my brain stopped thinking about my upcoming Harry Potter moment.
Instead, it started thinking about those who have come into my life as friends and those who have eventually settled into being lifetime friends and onto my small ‘you’re my person’ list.
Having had a particular group of friends who could be divided through the middle and were put into two separate categories of ‘the work commitment women and men’ and ‘the psychopaths’. Now if anyone had walked past my bedroom door, they would have heard hysterical laughter from me and when investigating as to why I was laughing, they’d have discovered I was still lying under my duvet.
What had caused me to burst out into hysterical laughter wasn’t a cute cat in a barbie car gif or a naked picture of a guy being stuck on the top of a candy dispenser (true story!).
Located in between the sappy love notes I had written about my fifteen year old crush, who had glanced at me from over his shoulder and how I would have fainted if I hadn’t been sitting already; I’d written about split categories for friends I had.
There entangled in my sloppy fifteen year old writing that was complete with love hearts perched over my I’s and what seemed like a trillion and one kisses to myself, I discovered my best friend at the time could only be defined as not being in the ‘work committed’ category.
Instead, my best friend at the time could and no doubt, would be found standing over someone who was bound, gagged, unconscious and being held hostage in an alleyway. All the while I stood there in horror and inching to phone the police, she would claim that she’d come across this person. That she “hadn’t done it” even though all evidence clearly pointed to her having done exactly what I had feared she’d done.
Up until this moment and sheer hysterics on my part at reading the undisclosed fear I had, I knew then that this person had bypassed the ‘slightly weird’ friend and had landed head first behind bars as a ‘psychopath’.
Poor Butt Sniff.
As the paper fluttered to my chest and post-realisation of my somewhat narrow escape of being an accomplice to Dexter, otherwise known as Butt Sniff aka my Bestie, I dragged the cover from my head. Taking in a gulp of fresh air while I felt around for my ever present bottle of water, I sucked down the liquid gold to satisfy the parched feeling of having laughed to much and began the day.
With a few strokes of my mascara wand and a couple of dabs to bloat my red lipstick, I exited the house with the face and attitude of a business woman who was in the midst of watching the stock market and shooting off emails left, right and centre.
In my case, I thought I looked like a successful business woman when in fact, I had a relatively small clutch that barely held the essentials firmly clasped between an already sweating armpit and side boob that couldn’t be harnessed in with my bra, my mobile phone gracing one hand and the other balanced a travel mug as well as my phone charger and a snack.
After dropping Lois off at her O’ week lecture, the rest of the tribe which consisted of Kaffy, Red and myself strolled along the pavement, weaving between those who lined the grounds of college before ducking inside a building for something to eat. Having left the dining hall with a replenished sense, we stopped into the local textbook exchange and while waiting outside for Kaffy and Red, Lois greeted me after concluding her lecture.
Mid-conversation of how the lecturer stated he would see everyone for a completely different class, I felt like what can only be described as the slowest and most deadliest trickle known to humanity happen. As I stood there in a frozen panic, surrounded by hundreds of jostling, laughing and crowd surfing people, and thought to myself, ‘dear God, no!’.
It was as I grabbed Lois into a hug and whispered into her ear, “my fucking period has turned up and I need tampons, stat!” that the reality of my ovaries and vagina having decided to award me a wonderful present, almost sent me into a mini mental meltdown.
Thankfully being the ultra cool and smooth Dad while his eldest daughter was mumbling about due dates and having “fecked up ovaries”, Red drove me to the local shops and proceeded to watch me bolt out of the car.
As I entered the shops with a chaotic and deranged look on my face that promptly cleared anyone out of my way, I skidded into the feminine alley that sold your fancy organic tampons and sanitary napkins that have riveting information on the packaging.
Standing there in the aisle while feeling as if, at any given moment a relatively large pool of blood was going to trickle its way down my leg before coming to a slow and creepy stop on the floor; I grabbed the product that I usually use and once again, bolted for the nearest cashier. It was only after throwing my tampons at the cashier and the woman understood the sheer panicked look my face, I quickly made my way to the nearest toilet.
With business taken care of and my hands santised within an inch of my epidermis cellular lifespan, I slid back into the front passenger seat and while buckling my seat belt, I thanked my Dad for being a hero to unjust periods. To which Red casually replied back with, “Glad to be of service and if you need me to get you to the shops, just let me know.”
Cue the hormonal tears and secretly feeling smug at knowing that my Dad was cool enough to be seen with a basket filled with tampons and sanitary napkins and not have any qualms about it.
Not before long, we were escaping the confinements of Lois and Kaffy’s college for the open road and lunch. As to the rest of the story, let’s just say Dearest Reader that I had a brilliant time and certainly thought that it couldn’t get any better at all for my family had simply outdone themselves.
But I shall leave you with some of the photos I took of the happy occasion.
Until next time,