"that time of the month"

I am a great period boyfriend. It’s an underrated skill. We live in a world where, for some reason, men have decided that there is nothing significant happening when their girlfriends and wives enter that time of the month when everything you learned about what the human body is and isn’t supposed to do goes haywire for them. And it all happens in a fairly significant region below the waistline, which makes the callousness of the male sex to the predicament all the more bizarre. As a man, I walk around with an almost Zen-like relationship with my genitalia. Like with all my truly great friends, if something is wrong with my pal downstairs, I know about it before he even has to tell me (not that he can talk, though if he did, I’d imagine he’d sound like Andy Griffith in “Matlock,” old and wise, with the pedigree of a law degree and a drawl that betrayed a history of good old fashioned hoedowns). In any case, it’s shocking that we, as a gender, don’t expect women to be a bit perturbed when their own privates (I realize I sound like a southern preacher circa 1880, but I was raised in the church my whole life) decide to go AWOL. If “Jake Steel and the gang” ever did anything remotely close to that on my watch, it would be betrayal of the highest order, like Judas planting a kiss on my cheek.

As such, I’ve made it a point to try and sympathize with any significant other I’ve ever had during their period. It’s harder than it sounds, mostly because, as I’ve tried to explain, men can’t possibly understand it. I like to think I’ve made strides though. I have Cosmopolitan to thank for a lot of my progress. Not because it actually gives any sort of significant advice on the subject; that’s far too crass a topic for any magazine that aims to satisfy a readership of progressive, glamorous women (I can only assume that Hilary Duff doesn’t get periods, ever). In fact, the opposite is true. Once, when I read a “Cosmo For Guys” feature on the topic (perhaps the single least read magazine section outside of “for those who don’t like ‘watersports’” in Urine Fetishists Monthly), the magazine told me that all woman really wanted when she entered that hellish time of the month was a big hug, and that sensitive men should see it as their responsibility to be there with open arms when the chaos began. Rest assured that this kind of physical intimacy is the opposite of what any woman wants during her period. I’ve had more than one girlfriend respond to the aforementioned “big hug” the way that beaten pets respond to approaching humans, complete with the snarling. In any case, they don’t find it adorable; at best it results in temporary violence and at worst it becomes hilarious grounds for a future breakup.

But what Cosmo did teach me is that every woman likes to at least feel glamorous, and there is nothing that feels less glamorous than a period. Just realizing this insignificant fact, I have become something of a standard bearer for significant others that women don’t mind being with during their periods. My secret? Compassionate understanding? Try again: It's Fear. That’s right; I’m talking about abject terror and awe. And I don’t mean the goofy, sitcom kind of fear for periods that has been portrayed as the standard for men; that kind of nonchalance will get you torn to pieces, in some cases literally. I’m talking about the kind of fear that is tempered by respect for that which you can’t possibly fathom, the kind of fear that kept the Israelites out of the Holy of Holies. When “that time of the month” rolls around, I hide; I cower. I stay as out of the way as I can. I speak when spoken to, and I answer any questions with as few syllables as possible.

Of course, this is no way to live your life for extended periods (ba-dum-TSSSSHHH!!!), but I’m a firm believer that if you want to be a good boyfriend, you should try to be a great period boyfriend. It can’t hurt to have your own needs completely smothered by the overwhelming needs of someone else, at least for a little while. The secret to surviving “that time of the month” is compromise, which isn’t such a bad trait to develop in the long run. And when you have someone reacting to you and everything around them with emotions tempered by bodily functions the likes of which you can’t understand (seriously, don’t even try, it’s way too much to handle; it’s like “the sublime” except with cramps), and you can be patient (or, perhaps better, hidden), maybe you grow a little. Just no big hugs. Cosmo has no idea how hard these girls can hit.