She’s been very polite. We started off on good terms. I, letting her flow freely, and she, only ever so slightly making me feel like I was gushing from within, causing me to rush to the bathroom to check for the disaster I felt was taking place in my pants. Gotcha! She says. What a jokester she is. There’s no mess, just a calm little collection happening.
Last night we hung out on the couch, researching fountain pens with the ever so glorious heating pad at our back.
We’re testing out a new menstrual cup this week. It’s been stubbornly veering to the left, poking the right side of that spot just inside my vagina.
Trips to the bathroom to straighten it out a bit. Now, stay, I ask it as if it were a rambunctious pup I’m attempting to tame.
Heading back to my seat, lowering myself down ever so softly to see if it has gone crooked again, a sure fire sign is the inevitable jab to the right of my vagina. So far, no jab. Things are looking up.
Eventually, we decide to trim the new cup. That's something new, we remark together. We've never had to trim a cup before. Longer stems is usually what we're asking for.
We settle into the couch with a sigh, unable to find comfort at the kitchen counter.
She’s been playing tricks on me, disappearing into the night, leaving me thinking she’s gone, only to return a few hours into the daylight, hello, remember me, I’m not quit ready to leave.
We ordered a pair of underwear, just for the two of us. Recently, she’s been begging to flow a little more freely, I'm trying to adjust to the sensation that there is more than there is really. We have high hopes these new underwear will help ease that fear of leaking everywhere.
It’s amazing to look back at the progression over the past ten years of being together. We started out rocky, fighting the entire week. Now we coincide like two peas in a pod, happier than could be.