So here’s the deal. I’ve been outed so to speak, though it was entirely of my own doing and I wouldn’t take it back.
You see, we moved to Israel. And that means we’ve met real live people who knew of us previously only in blogworld. That means that real people I have the privilege of interacting with nearly every day now know when I have my period. Or so they would, had I gotten my shit together and blogged recently.
Big deal you say? Well, see the problem is that observant Judaism kind of frowns on that. And I agree. I feel a bit like I’m wearing a bumper sticker on my tatas that says “Ask me about my 56-day cycle!”
So here’s the dealio. To all of the lovely people out there who have adopted us, nurtured us and made this move easier than I could have ever dreamed it would be: consider yourself warned.
I’m coming back to blogging. That means you might read any of the number of blog posts I have floating around in my head right now (working titles include “When undergarments attack” and “Things that go bump in the night”). You’ll know when my period gets here. If you’re lucky, you’ll get all the gory details you’ve come to expect, know and love. You’ll see me embrace the f-word with a love and frequency rarely seen outside of parenthood. So if you don’t want to know, please stop reading.
Or keep reading, but if you happen to be an X-Y model of the human species, it would be really fabulous if we didn’t have to discuss this stuff in real life.
Not that you would. You’re all much more tzniusdik about stuff than I am. I’m still learning. But let’s agree not to chat about the elasticity of my vaginal discharge in real life, shall we?
Okie dokie. Glad we got that out of the way. So I’m back. More to come soon.