So, your shy and independent daughter has finally gotten her period. I didn’t need the announcement, in the form of a “Red Tent” party invite. The fact that you feel the need to hold some crunchy party, for you and your “woo” lady friends to discuss the “blood mysteries” with your daughter and any friends of hers, is extremely creepy. This isn’t “Nancy Drew and the Mystery of the Bloody Gym Shorts”, she’s got her period. Mammals of all types experience it, yet you new age nutbags feel the need to throw a party and howl at the fucking moon. If she’s already not upstairs crying, you’re ensuring she won’t come down for the next month. My parents screwed, I was born a female and that’s it. It’s not some sort of accomplishment being born a woman (the birth itself is the accomplishment) case closed. It’s what we woman can DO in our accomplishments that matter and I’m sorry but my shedding the lining of my uterus isn’t a cause to celebrate. All your daughter needs is some midol, a pad, and some chocolate and for you to leave her the fuck alone and not create an event which is really all about you. No child should have forced on them, some crazy batshit parent who needs attention by proxy, because her daughter started staining her underpants.
Your Poor Daughter
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