Two menstruating persons walk into a bar and sit in a booth. The cocktail waitperson inquires, “What are you having today?” One of them moans, “What I’m having at the moment are killer cramps! I don’t suppose you serve arsenic, but what else can you offer me?”
“Oh, dear,” replies the waitperson. “Being a transgender gal, I’m afraid I’m not the right person to ask. I mean, I always wanted cramps, so I could bond more completely with the other girls, but my surgeon . . . . Forgive me. Tell you what, though, my manager is a menopausal birthing person, who probably knows a thing two. I’ll ask her to come out and talk to you . . . .”
OK, by now you realize that the only joke here is on you, if you have an employer or a teacher or a civil servant who thinks and speaks like this.
the Aspen beat 