Letters with love: Ovulation is inevitable…
Photo courtesy of Wikimedia Commons
Does anyone else feel guilt for their actions while they're ovulating? Well, I do. I can't shake this feeling that ovulation transforms me into a completely different person. A person I haven't seen before. Once it ends, everything is a blur. I often wonder where those thoughts go.
It’s hard for me to keep my articles on just one topic. I just can’t. Two weeks ago, I published an article regarding the Canadian rapper, Drake. Well, I’ve come forward as a hypocrite: “MEET YOUR PADRE” has held me hostage and spoon-fed me Coca-Cola. My friends and I were in the Milne library hosting a miniature album hearing party. Of course, we had other things to do— I had to outline two midterm papers, but that could wait. $ome $exy $ongs 4 U (2025) had to come first.
We focused on one song, “MEET YOUR PADRE.” My friends wanted to voice their own opinions after reading my own from two newspapers ago. “Your body looks like Coca-Cola.” You should hear the way those syllables roll off his tongue. The sharp consonant sweetens his compliment. He knows how to boost my confidence.
Yes, Drake, I am thick like a Coca-Cola bottle. The song as a whole is terrible, but I’ve grown to appreciate this hidden verse embedded between the somewhat uncomfortable portrayal of the Latinx community. And then there’s “NOKIA.”
“Is it Stacey? Is it Becky?” Who knows! I think this song, in particular, deserves a feature from Kendrick Lamar. Yes, I know, they’re beefing… But Kendrick’s vocals would pair beautifully with the chorus. I mean, it basically sounds like him already; and I know the fate of my answer. The likelihood of that happening is equivalent to Donald Trump taking control of Canada.
There are only two moods someone with a uterus experiences during ovulation: I need to be handled in a way no one’s been handled before, or I hate men, but I love children.
If you are susceptible to the first, then the hormones have already gotten to you. If it's the second, congratulations! I’m sure we all feel the same.
As I mentioned, I am a hypocrite, especially because I fell victim to the first thought. His name was Joshua, a tall, dark, not handsome man who drove a yellow Jeep. He was desperate —I don’t like when men triple-text, let alone quadruple— but I was mad at my sneaky link, and there are only so many cosmopolitans I can have before making bad decisions. Don’t worry, I’m not underage…I’m Carrie Bradshaw, for God’s sake; I’m supposed to make bad decisions!
And the thing that bothers me the most is that I didn’t want to sleep with him; I would’ve been fine with just a make-out. It was 3:00 am, and it was snowing really hard. We were just chatting, making out in the back of his car. Once I had my fill, I asked to go home. He was nice enough to drive me back —satisfy his sexual urges another time— and so I made it safely into the warmth of my bed, reconnecting with my heated blanket and silk pillowcase. But when I thanked him through text, he dropped the line:
“I wish I was in your bed right now.”
Maybe it was the thick layer of snow on the ground. I had started to feel bad for having a random man drive thirty minutes at 2:00 am for a high school make-out session. The snow was piling fast, and I worried he would get in an accident on the way home. So, I opened the doors and let him stay until the storm calmed down, which sheepishly turned into the opening of my legs. After I did it, I sent him home. The snow decided to stop once we were done.
I’m mad at myself for consenting to that. I shouldn’t have done that. Why did I do that?
I wonder how often a woman’s kindness towards a man turns into regret. Maybe I should have let him drive home; no one told him to be so persistent. Or maybe, just maybe, I thought it was a good decision to make while under the influence, confident that my sober mind wouldn’t be too upset.
In the end, I could choose to stay upset about something I once thought was a good idea, or I could choose to move on with my life. At least it helped me feel some sort of control. I expected myself to cling to my sneaky link after this incident, but I’ve never felt so detached. So, in the end, making a bad decision was worth it.
Besides, my sneaky link just asked to see me tonight.