I wish I could blame the monkeys.
So there I was on Friday, just minding my own business, when my insides deliquesced.
I was sure it was Ebola. I couldn't immediately recall any intimate encounters with a diseased macaque, but that doesn't mean it didn't happen. (Monkeys and vodka don't mix, as I've learned to my sadness many a time.)
Imagine my relief when it turned out to be nothing more than my period, two days early, awesome in volume and velocity. Honestly, it was okay. I mean, I might have been losing two ounces of blood with every beat of my heart, but at least it wasn't seeping from my eyeballs.
I try to give thanks for the smallest of blessings.