There are times, approximately twelve to thirteen of them a year, in fact, when being a fully functional adult female really bites the big one.

See, I'm not one of those lucky women who barely knows it's going on, oh no. I am one of those women who spends the first day of this Moontide laid up, incapacitated, in pain, avoiding the urge to vomit, sometimes failing, ailing in other - slightly less palatable to write - ways, and prone to chemical sensitivity triggered by odours that could then make me vomit.

When they talk about The Curse, I know what they mean.

Now, if this is punishment for passing an apple to Adam in the garden, I'd like to point out that I personally don't eat apples. Ever. Can't stand them. So there's no chance I'd be passing one on to someone else unless they asked for it. (I do like the smell of Granny Smith apples, but that's not the same as sinning by eating one.)

If this is purely biological functioning, I'd like to remind the universe that I was years ago spayed, and therefore in no particular need of this particular feminine function. You may have it back. Now.

Hmm, you know, I think it was around this time about 25 years ago that this first began - it was certainly near to the same week John Lennon died.

Why yes, my mind does make strange and disturbing connections. Your point?