I can't even.
Sure, Emily wrote about pooping herself, and that's all well and good and hilarious and embarrassing. But she didn't POOP IN THE OFFICE. She didn't make the office an uninhabitable environment. Yeah.
But I asked Twitter, and the public has spoken: I must write about how my period-blood-soaked vagina stunk up the entire fucking editors' office at xoJane, forcing us to root around to try to find the dead mouse or rotting corpse that might lie somewhere buried.
I woke up today, exhausted, having finally gotten a heavy period without even realizing it. So far, I had a very light one. Like, barely there. Which I hate, because that means my body's not flowing. And I break out more, and it sucks. It's more spotting than a period, you know? So I used this handy aromatherapy that I buy from this Chinese herbal medicine shop in Chinatown called Kamwo. They sell this one called "Nourish Sea of Blood."
I'm not making this up. Nourish Sea of Blood. I mean, COME ON.
So anyway, the bottle did the trick, and I've been working so much and have been so bone-tired just trying to take care of the personal hygiene of my damned dog (he peed on my iPhone yesterday, which I believe in dog is his way of saying, "You spend too much time on your iPhone"), and so I raced into work today wearing the same underwear I wore last night to bed and not taking a shower.
Big mistake. Huge.
(How great would that have been if that had been the scenario in which Julia Roberts was giving her speech in "Pretty Woman"? WHOLE DIFFERENT MOVIE!)
So I came in. Emily, Corynne and I met in Jane's office, and we talked stories and reader engagement and traffic goals and it was quite a productive meeting. Interestingly, my vagina had not yet decided to really release its full on menstrual-blood stink bomb yet. No. I guess I can give thanks for that. (Work tip for the ladies: Try not to stink bomb a legend in the publishing industry with your vagina. It just isn't done!)
But then we returned from the meeting to our small little office that Corynne and Emily and I all share together. Suddenly, Corynne noticed something was amiss. It smelled like an "animal died." I didn't smell it. Funny how that works. Corynne was screaming how bad it smelled. "It's coming in waves," Olivia said.
(LIKE A SEA OF BLOOD.)
But then I did smell it. We moved around, and strangely, wherever I moved, we had pinpointed and isolated the spot! And yet, despite having spent my youth reading almost exclusively Nancy Drew novels, I could not crack this case!
Emily came in during our extensive search party and said, "Oh I forgot to tell you guys I killed a baby and put it in my cabinet at work," because you know, legendary IHTM callback. Legendary. We rooted through her drawers. We rooted through my drawers. We took out all the trash. We moved the couch. We moved the couch again. We poked in the ceiling.
At this point, we asked our office manager to call the superintendent because clearly there must be a gaggle of dead mice up in the floorboards or a murderer had decided to bury some corpses in our beauty cabinet next to the Justin Bieber cologne and hair extensions. If you watch the delightful video, you can actually see me standing on the couch, looking up into the ceiling trying to GET TO THE BOTTOM OF THIS FOUL ODOR.
Oh, but don't you see.
It was my period-blood-overflowing vagina all along.
#TWIST! It's like an M. Night Shyamalan movie up in this piece!
Do you know how awesome it is to email the office manager and say, "Don't worry about the mystery odor we thought was a dead mouse or a rapidly decaying body -- it was just Mandy's vagina!"
Because it's pretty fucking awesome.
I went home to walk Sam (where, I am not making this up, Sam and I ran into Peter Dinklage from "Game of Thrones" who was walking his awesome dog and was the nicest person ever and knows nothing of my shame -- or, oh wait, Google), and afterward, still basking in the glow of Peter's badassery, I proceeded to feed Sam.
And then -- AS ONE DOES -- I went to the bathroom. That's when I nearly passed out at the smell of my now near-toxic-fumes-level of massive menstruation.
A SEA OF BLOOD YOU MIGHT SAY.
Humiliated, I emailed this succession of incredibly professional emails to my coworkers.
Corynne wants you to know, "I wouldn't have been so mean if I knew it was you! I would have taken you aside and told you -- and not like screamed about it around the office." She adds in classic Corynne style, "But I mean...I was like dry-heaving!"
"I don't mean it to be bitchy," she clarifies.
Olivia adds, "I'm traumatized. Because I don't mind the smell of my body odors."
I responded, "Yeah, I minded. It was fucking disgusting. I should have checked my underwear this morning but I was so menstrual sea-of-blood exhausted."
Then Marci came in and said, "I like that lipstick you're wearing! It looks really great, Mandy."
I glared at her. "You don't have to over-compliment me now because you're afraid I'm going to kill myself," I said.
And then I died. Again and again forever.