I recently watched a commercial for “ultra-quiet” sanitary napkins (i.e., bloody cooch diapers) and became irate at the idea that women have to keep the crackling noise from the plastic wrapper and adhesive bits of their maxi pads at a bare minimum. This is to spare other women and mainly men the embarrassment of discovering that we are in the habit of expelling oodles of blood out of our vaginae.

We live in a society where we celebrate the male reproductive fluid and marvel at its viscidity, yet recoil in horror at the thought of a woman menstruating. We can watch men’s jism dangle comically from their ears and subsequently harden into hair gel. We can even watch it be ejaculated into a glass of pale ale only to be imbibed by another virile male. We vividly remember the “smoking gun” on a presidential mistress’s cocktail dress and make sketch comedy poking fun at its pivotal role in the scandal. Yet we can’t get bear the thought of a woman’s Aunt Flo soaking through her pants and getting on the upholstery, or a woman—God forbid—changing her tampon! (You mean, they stick it all the way… up there?)

Well, this is one woman is refuses to stay ultra-quiet. I will bleed on the heads of every film and television producer’s bald white head until we can get the female period the screen-time it so rightly deserves. Because this is about social equality of the sexes. Period.