Your 7.30am alarm jars you awake. It’s only Tuesday but it already feels like the longest week of your life. You didn’t go to the gym last night in the hopes that an early night would cure your tiredness.
It did not.
Rolling out of bed, you resolve to have a good day. You reach into your wardrobe for the baby pink dress that you haven’t worn for a while because a brightly coloured dress will surely kickstart your newly discovered good mood.
A rare sunny day greets you as you begin your morning commute to work. The birds are chirping merrily, the bus arrives on time and there are plenty of seats to choose from – the universe is clearly conspiring to drag you out of your funk.
You walk through the beautiful foyer and ride the lift up to the 6th floor, walking through the dozens of desks in your swanky open plan office.
Today is going to be a good day.
At 10am, you make your second pilgrimage across the office floor. This time the office is full and bustling. You open the doors to the toilet and make your way into a stall. Suddenly something feels wrong, you look down and you realise, oh no, it’s here.
Has it been a month already?
You’re shocked at how much blood you can see and remember the colour of your dress. Oh no. You clean yourself up, dash out of the stall and turn around in front of the mirror.
Suddenly your good day transforms into the worst day ever.
You frantically dab your dress with soap and water, hoping the stain will disappear. You repeatedly back into the dryer and watch the red turn to brown and turn to a weird whitish stain.
Your brain flashes through all the people that might have seen the stain on your dress. The bus. The café. The foyer. The lift. The open plan floor.
As you rush across the office at breakneck speed, you imagine yourself to be Queen Cersei, heckled by the crowd shouting “Shame! Shame! Shame!”
You dive towards your bag, rummaging frantically. Nothing. Drawers. Nothing.
You fire up your computer and urgently draft an email to some trusted colleagues.