This morning I woke up to the expected*, and pulled out my favorite red pad, and pulled on my new red underwear. I hadn’t ever had red underwear before (polyester faux-silk for-show pairs notwithstanding), and after just two wearings, I can absolutely recommend it.
There’s something wonderfully affirming about wearing red while gushing red. Red is sexy, and powerful; I am sexy, and powerful. It is bloody, and strong; I am bloody, and strong. Red is bold, and beautiful, the color of war and of healers and of birth, and I evoke all those when I bleed between my thighs. Every woman should have red underwear, not for her lover(s), but for herself. No one has to know. It can be our silent scarlet secret.
How much stronger could we be if we wore red when we bled? It’s hard to be meek when one is kicking it in hot red true red blood red bold red underwear. Forget pink. Pink is light, and “pretty”, and for princesses, and anyway it stains. We are dark, ferocious, queens of war (we bleed for days and still walk on), and we deserve beautiful clothes not even when we bleed, but especially when we bleed, not even on our cunts, but especially on our cunts, and we can leave our mark on this earth elsewhere than our underwear.
It’s a red underwear day, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.
* Reason number 27 to chart: knowing ahead of time when the flow’s gonna show.