It Was a Disaster, Period.

            There we were, in our apartment, getting ready for a fabulous night on the town. My three friends and I looked completely stunning. I had this tight crème colored Gucci dress on that wrapped around my hips. I was totally into myself that night. Of course, my other girlfriends looked amazing also.

            We decided to hit up the most popular bar in Philadelphia. This was the place to be; from outfits, to celebrity appearances, to mega hot guys, amazing house music, you couldn’t go wrong. However, the only way to budge up to the line is determined on how hot you look. I was pretty confident that my girls and I had that going on.

            During the drive to Philadelphia, I began to feel crampy. I thought to myself, “Oh shit Gillian, please do not let this be Aunt Flo making a guest appearance.” Eventually, I came to terms that I could psyche myself out of getting my period. Anyways, it was just one night; my ovaries could wait till tomorrow morning.

            We finally get to Philadelphia, do our valet parking thing, then budge up to the line, and bam, get in. Thank God for Gucci and tight crème colored dresses!

            The music was pumping and there were so many male species around, we did not know what to do with ourselves. I headed for bar, the girls followed. Then, the cramps came back. I figured if I poisoned my ovaries with vodka then Aunt Flo would stay home knitting tonight and surprise me with that lovely leakage tomorrow.

            Hours passed and we were the center of attention. We were up on the bar tables dancing, dancing with hot men, basketball players, at the DJ’s booth, until I got a tap on my shoulder. The tap was from a stranger (why is it always a stranger that I encounter when something goes wrong? I have no clue).

            “Excuse me miss? You have a huge stain on your dress. I think you sat in something.”

            Oh my ghaaaad, I thought to myself. This was ridiculous. Aunt Flo came, what a bitch! Here I am, drunk and feebly running to my friends to tell them I needed to go to the bathroom. What was I supposed to do? I was in such a predicament, and plus my Gucci dress was totally ruined. Before I even decided to run to the bathroom to check out the damage, I remembered there was a CVS nearby.

            I ran out of the club like a lunatic with my stained dress and hit up the local CVS for a big red Sharpie. Ten minutes later I am back in the club, in the bathroom, putting red dots all over my Gucci crème dress; yes, I marked my very expensive couture dress with red Sharpie dots, and stuffed myself with napkins until I could get hold of tampons (I forgot those when I frantically went into CVS).

            So ladies and gentlemen, what I learned here was that all women get periods at crazy times, and for some, at the wrong times. When else fails and you’re wearing a light colored dress, make sure there’s a red Sharpie in there. I thank you Sharpie markers for saving my life.