Ask any girl and she would tell you that she would happily trade in these monthly mood swing-inducing, gut-wrenching, nauseous days of bloating for dropping an anvil on her toes. They are not enjoyable for us but happen to be very much a necessary part of the existence of the human race.
There are many euphemisms that we women use to share our plight when that time of the month arrives. These names, shrouded in secrecy are nothing short of covert military operations code names. My most recent discovery was Shark week-aptly termed given the torture, pain and the bloody gory mess involved in being a victim of a shark attack.
For the full text: click here: