I would have liked to laugh in her face and slam the door in her witch-like-foul-breath-having-evil-eye-glaring-mole-speckled-gnarled nose; but at this stage of my personal game, her visits are better than the alternative.
I do, however think it's wholly unfair that she shows up late and treats me like it's my fault that she ran into traffic. This snapper has taken a ball-peen hammer to all of my joints and the interior of my skull... seems the end fits beautifully into my right eye-socket. She's also taken to my breadbox with brass knuckles, and I'd give anything right now to have breakfast delivered instead of having to stand at the stove for a full 6 minutes and cook a couple of eggs myself. She's stolen my energy like rims at a rap concert, and I look now, more than every before in my life, like the iconic teenage 'pizza face'.
Had I known the hell that I would endure at the post-fixed hands of the Medusa she's become, I'd have been spayed instead. I'd still have to endure the hormonal hell of Aunt Flo even without her actually showing up, but at least I would have regained my personal power and ended her reign on my own terms. Now I have to endure her terms, all the way to the bitter end. And Aunt Flo is mean... Junk Yard Dog Mean.
I've come to realize that Aunt Flo is a monster that thrives on fear. Think about it ladies, and tell me I'm wrong here... Before you get it, as a young girl, it's scary to think that you're body will turn on you and bleed, unchecked and on schedule for most of your adult life. Then you start having Aunt Flo call on you, and it's more fear... this time of accidents, and having the men in your life know she's there. As you get older, you become afraid when she's late. Even older, your biological clock starts ticking and your fear shifts to when she does show up instead of staying away. Towards the end of her visits, she'll pop in and out as she pleases, sometimes only sending unbearable personal climate changes in her stead. Again, the fear of accidents resurfaces because she's so damned unpredictable. In the end, when she finally leaves with all of her hellish luggage, you fear your womanhood is lost. Fear, fear, fear and more fear. And the medical community wonders why women have more heart-attacks and stress-based illnesses...DUH.
No man could stand that constant fear. A man would put a bullet in his brain with that kind of lifelong pressure. A woman gets flowery-frou-frou commercials as if that will make it better. I actually think they make the commercials like that so as not to scare the men-folk. Screw Freddy and Jason... Wes Craven and Leatherface? Total wusses compared to Aunt Flo. And there is no stopping her. Police aren't going to come... You can't shoot Aunt Flo with 50 caliber semi-automatic machine gun. 911 would arrest you for stupidity. She's the foe that cannot be stopped; and she shows up every month for 30+ years!
Men are scared shitless of Aunt Flo, and some of them are even man enough to admit it. The wise ones bow to the power of Flo and it's horrible possession of their women. No priest is showing up for that exorcism, I guarantee it. Aunt Flo is what convinced a lot of priests that it would be easier to give up sex forever, than battle that hell-beast every month. She has damaged some of the strongest men on the planet so severely that they can't even go down 'that aisle' of the store. Aunt Flo is too scary to be a Halloween costume.
With that in mind, parents, get out of your own selfish, pre-birth world for a brief moment and think about the future of your children... there are a lot of jacked-up names floating around these days, but the cruelest thing any parents could do to a girl child with siblings would be to name her Florence. No child, no matter how brilliant or beautiful, could live down that kind of stigma. Ever.