Kalah Allen

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 is extremely creepy. This isn’t Nancy Drew and the Mystery of the Bloody Gym Shorts. She 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. It’s not some sort of accomplishment being born a woman—it’s what we women can DO that matters, and I’m sorry, but shedding the lining of one’s uterus isn’t a cause to celebrate. All your daughter needs is some Midol, a pad, some chocolate, and for you to leave her the fuck alone and not create an event that’s really all about you. No child should have to deal with a batshit crazy parent who demands attention because her daughter started staining her underpants.—Anonymous