Shmirshky by E Page A

waiting room, on your cell phone, or in between carpooling your kids.
    To help make this little book nice and easy to read, I included some “tickle-your-feet notes.” They are kind of like footnotes, but way more fun. This way, you won’t have to flip to the back of the book to get fun facts and definitions. For more detail and easy reference, there are a bunch of resources and citations in the back of the book along with a list of Shmirshky Fun Terms and Shmirshky Not-So-Fun Terms.
    Okay, enough housekeeping, I think we’re ready to jump right in. Be sure to hold on to your shmirshky—you erlicks are always holding yours—and let’s get started!

CHAPTER 1
a simpler shmirshky
    When I was fourteen, all I wanted was to get my period. My girlfriends got theirs years before I did. They also had boobs. Apparently, I stepped out of the boob line for a minute and missed my allocation. I was probably in the cupcake or raw cookie dough line. (Thank God for the padded bra.)
    I became obsessed with getting my period. After all, when you had your period, you were “in,” and more important, you got excused from taking a shower in PE. Standing in the shower with a soaking wet towel plastered over my flat chest while trying to camouflage my raging embarrassment was no day at the beach. The anticipation of taking that communal shower each day twisted my stomach into knots. I badly needed to be excused. So one day, I woke up and decided that it was time to take action. It was time to fake my period.
    Every week, I walked confidently up to my PE teacher and announced that I needed to be excused. Unfortunately, I really didn’t understand the menstrual cycle; all I knew was that I wanted a period and the boobs that came with it. Eventually, my teacher pulled me aside to tell me I could only be excused for one week every twenty-eight days. I had overused my excuses! I solved this problem by copying a friend’s period cycle. Whenever she got her period, I pretended to get mine. This worked great, but I still had period envy for almost two years.
    Then, one day, it actually came! I was sixteen years old. The fabulous period had arrived, and I was sure that I was going to be “in” now. I knew guys would start flocking around me. I was ecstatic. I had been dreaming of this day for such a long time.
    I reached into my purse and pulled out my longing-to-be-used belt and pad. (Yes, we had belts in those days, and I don’t mean Gucci.) The pad I carried in my purse for years was all shriveled up and yucky. (For you erlicks, this was similar to the condom you carried around when you were fourteen, hoping at any minute that you would get laid.) I put on my belt and pad and waited to feel something magical, something extraordinary—even orgasmic!
    As I left the bathroom, my head was pounding and I was still waiting. There was no euphoria. The only thing exploding was my pulsating headache. Did I really have to walk around with blood dripping between my legs onto this huge barge in my crotch for seven days every month of my life? Was this what I had been praying for? Are you kidding me? By the way, what about those cramps and the pulling on the inside of my thighs? What’s up with that? I looked down at my breasts. It was clear that I still didn’t need a bra; a couple of Band-Aids would have done the job just fine. A loud, angry voice inside my head kept yelling, “ Hey , where are my boobs? I thought this was a package deal! ”
    Do you know any shmirshkies who love getting their periods or look forward to drowning in a sea of raging hormones? Do you know any shmirshkies (or erlicks for that matter) who can’t wait for the monthly PMS, 4 the bloating, the constipation, the cravings, and the sore, exploding breasts? Isn’t the emotional roller coaster such a blast? Nearly two weeks out of every month, you and the poor souls around you are stuck in the MTZ (Menstruation