Girl Realizes What It Takes To Date A Climate Studies Major
By Bonnie Bu
My boyfriend, the great Keith Footprint, really wants the best for our world. He truly does. He volunteers to pick up waste in the waterways on Wednesdays. He even publicly denounces high-wealth individuals with substantial investments in oil. He’s taught me to curse those power-hungry, shale-loving tyrants before bed everyday. It’s kind of like our cute, little thing before the fertilization kicks in.
Oh, and did I mention? He loves his cycles. The nitrogen cycle reinvigorates life by passing multiple forms of nitrogenous matter through our planet. Carbon exchange through the geosphere, hydrosphere, and the wealthy keeps his feet kicking in the air like a preteen on the landline. The water cycle feeds our thirsty souls and attempts to wash the immovable grime off the hedge-fund offices of New York City. Every one of these cycles heaves its legs through the trenches of man-made muck and inspires Keith to speak for the flora. Every. Single. Day.
For a man that is so knowledgeable about the natural rotations of life… There is one cycle to which he is completely oblivious: the menstrual cycle. That’s important too, right? Ovulation releases the egg, while the luteal phase thickens the womb. It encapsulates the precious ability to bear children, the irreplaceable path of motherhood, and the centuries-old torch of femininity passed down for generations. That cough and gush of blood as endometrial cells settle in your period product of choice is a flourish of independence.
But when I tell him I’m in, uh, that part of my cycle, his eyebrows crunch together like converging tectonic plates. For goodness’ sake! How does one cope with her boyfriend’s face of abject disgust when he scoffs, “it’s that time of the month, isn’t it?”
I can’t spend time with him without thinking about how he believes that pregnancy and childbirth are “light work” because they’re supposedly comparable to getting kicked in the balls. Sure, he’ll recoil in pain and maybe even flinch a little, but that’s so much worse than the trivial preggo experience of craving a pickle-peanut butter sandwich every nine hours! My boyfriend is deeply rooted in both good and evil. He’s progressive, knowledgeable, and caring, but the second I mention I’m fracking for tampons he reeks of social backwardness.
I love him sooooo much :(. But don’t ever tell him this one thing. Please. Sometimes I dream of a future where I’m allowed to wake up to whatever notification I want: “Your package from SHEIN has been delivered!” Thank fucking goodness. And recently… I’ve been fascinated by the brazen and chivalrous acquisitions and mergers of ExxonMobil. I don’t know, “market share” and “mechanical oil extraction” have such oddly powerful rings to them.
Are these primitive urges my own? Or are they projections of deep distaste and rebellion toward Keith? Who will ever really know? A girl, and her old Aunt Flo, can only dream.