You Should’ve Listened to Your Mother (Short Story)

“What is that?” Felix asks with his nostrils flaring. I look at what he’s pointing at on the nightstand.

“It’s called a tampon,” I answer mockingly.

He gives me his “you’re hilarious” look and glares. “I know what it is smart-ass.”

“Then why did you ask what it was?” I ask turning away to change my shirt.

He follows me to my closet, “It was a rhetorical question! I meant ‘what is it doing on the nightstand’?”

“It’s not doing anything on the nightstand, I mean, it’s not doing its intended job,” I answer nonchalantly. I push him out of my way after I’ve finished dressing. He follows me to the kitchen.

He sighs, “You’re so smart-mouthed, you know that?”

I shrug, “You should’ve listened to your mother.” I grab a few pans and heat them up to make some scrambled eggs.

He puts his hand on his forehead dramatically. “I know you have your lady things, but I don’t want them in my face. It’s gross.”

To this, I had to reply. “Oh, ‘lady things’ is what you call it? What are you, nine?” I can feel my heart racing and my blood heating up. These are topics I never like to discuss with men.

He brushes his hair behind his ear nervously. “Look, I just think you should respect what I feel. I think I’m pretty respectful with what you dislike. I dislike very much seeing tampons lying around.”

I break open the eggs in a plate with so much strength that I do it wrong. “You’re lucky they weren’t used tampons. Those I put under your pillow.”

He rolls his eyes disgusted. “You don’t have to get so angry. I’m just saying…”

I turn to face him and his blue eyes are pleading, but not enough. “I’m not allowed to get angry at the fact that you’re disgusted by what nature has burdened me with, but you’re allowed to get angry because I leave the tools that help me get through the crime scene in my pants lying around? That’s very fair.”

He tries to grab me, but I pull away. “Ugh, I hate when you get like this.” He walks away and props himself down on the sofa. This time, I follow him.

I take a deep breath, “You want to know what I hate?” I ask calmly.

His eyes widen, “Not really, no.”

“I hate when you leave your underwear lying around, when you clearly farted and left ass marks all over it. I hate when you leave the toothpaste’s lid off. I hate when your junk stinks and you still expect me to touch it. I hate when you scratch that same junk and then don’t wash your hands before you eat” I say quickly in the scariest tone I have.

He bites his lip nervously and looks up at me, “I hate when you’re on your period.”

I smell burning and run to the kitchen. My scrambled eggs were burned to crisp. Murphy’s law.

“UGH!” I scream. I take a deep breath and recover my posture. I turn back to where my lovely Felix is sitting and sit next to him with my head in my hands. “You think you hate when I’m on my period? Try being on your period.”

He puts his soft hand on my neck and I pull away. “Sorry!” he exclaims. He knows I hate when people do that. It makes me feel like they want to dominate me, like a dog, or something. “Look, I’m sorry for being such a dick.”

“I’m sorry you’re a dick, too” I say with a half smile.

He chuckles a bit then turns my head to face him. “You know you’re a total bitch when you’re on your period?”

I nod.

“…Well, you’re a bitch when you’re not, too.”

I punch him on the arm. “Like you’re a walk in the park.”

He smiles that brilliant smile that turns me into mush. “So, does my junk really stink that bad? ‘Cus this is a recurring argument of yours. I’m starting to worry.”

I smile sweetly as I touch his face gently. “You should worry.”

I go back into the bedroom to grab my purse to head out to work, I’m already late.

“Hey! So, are you gonna make me breakfast?” he yells out from the family room.

I come out of the bedroom, grab a plate from the kitchen, and hand him his feast.

“Bon appetite!” I say as I walk away smiling.

“Tampon for breakfast! Very original! I’m throwing it away!” he yells as I close the front door.

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