This was inspired by the “your body my choice” meme from 2024.
In nearly twenty years of marriage, Ann had never been the big spoon.
She also had never had morning wood. (Her nose had never been buried in the nape of a woman with dark brown hair who was her mirror image.) So of course, Ann shrieked like a banshee and rolled out of bed as if her doppleganger were a pod person from the 1978 version of The Invasion of the Body Snatchers. (She was still haunted by the ending, and by Donald Sutherland’s scream-and-point at the end, even decades later.)
She was too terrified to notice how much deeper her voice was. (The morning wood, that feeling of something there that should not be was momentary, and overcome by the person in her bed who was not Brian.) She was also in too much pain to notice, as she wasn’t as flexible as she had been in her teens or even twenties, when rolling highspeed out of bed would have been nothing. Something in her back twisted and popped angrily and she dropped, clutching at the bed covers with a yelp of pain.
Meanwhile, the “duplicate” on the bed also screams and rolls off the bed in the opposite direction, faring no better in the flexibility department. “What the fuck Ann?” Her duplicate asked with a high-pitched howl that seemed to startle her. She looks down, staring at her body then back at Ann. She repeated in a quieter voice, “what the fuck? What kind of Freaky Friday bullshit is this?”
“Brian?” Ann asked, even as she scrambled back clumsily from the bed, trying to get up despite twinges from her (Brian’s?) spine. She looked down, and yes, she was wearing Brian’s boxers. And apparently, Brian’s body. And Brian was apparently in her body.
“Ann?” Brian asked, equally bewildered. “What the hell is this?”
“I don’t know. Why would I know?” Ann ased.
After a lot of arguing, they decide to go to Urgent Care. They have no idea if Urgent Care will help or if they’ll even be believed. They argue through every step of the process to get there. Brian refuses to put on makeup (citing sensory issues). He also refuses to wear a skirt or a blouse. Ann meanwhile refuses to wear men’s clothing. Especially men’s underwear. Brian objects to Anne trying to fit into her underwear in his body. (He also objects to Ann wearing pants without underwear.)
They do manage to make it to the Urgent Care, and it isn’t long before they see a doctor. (His lanyard says his name is “Dr. Benji Lewis.”) Dr. Lewis is a young kid who looks barely out of school. He stares at them when they explain they ended up switching with each other. Then the doctor blinked a couple times at the end of the story. “So, which of you posted the meme?” The doctor asked. “It’s almost always the husband or boyfriend, but I need to ask.”
“This is because of a meme?” Ann asks, incredulously. “What meme?” She tries to think of any weaponized memes she or her husband could have accidentally reposted or blogged. Nothing was coming up…then she looked at her own face…is that what I look like when I feel guilty? Ann wondered.
“Your body, my choice–you know, that meme from the twenties?” Brian asked, looking even guiltier as she glared at him.
“Why would you post something like that?” Ann asked. It had been a ugly little meme posted by awful people. It had quickly disappeared because–it was one of the first memes to be weaponized. She felt her face heat up as she glared at her husband. “Why would you–“
“I didn’t post it with intent,” Brian said defensively. “It was just in an article I wrote! For my series about the history of weaponized memes!”
“Sometimes weaponized memes can misfire,” the doctor said. “Especially the early ones. ” Then he looked extremely apologetic. “Um. Mrs. Walker, are you perimenopause or menopausal?”
“I…I’ve always been irregular, so I’m not sure. I’ve had mostly very light periods for the past few years,” Ann said with a frown.
“Well, ah. Let me explain how this weaponized meme usually proceeds–“
Once the doctor explained the way the weaponized meme progressed, he reassured us that since My Beautiful Wife was most likely perimenopausal, that I shouldn’t get any of the more extreme side effects of the weaponized meme. (I would call it a curse, but given the givens, they would take away my Supportive Husband license, because one of the names for the most egregious side effect is experiencing “The Curse.” Reason, despite accuracy: sexism.)
The doctor was wrong. Very, very wrong. You see, My Beautiful Wife left out something fairly important. Something I had been blissfully unaware of due to Menstrual Stealth Mode, which some women fall into due to their background being particularly disgusted and unsympathetic toward the pain and sickness associated with menstruation. MBW assures me she is not from such a background, though she does report that her dad once hilariously refused to go buy pads for her when they were out. (MBW has four other sisters, I really think someone should have kept more on the ball. As far as I know, the story about women synching up is not a thing.)
Most of the time, for the past five years or so, her periods have been very light. Except when they haven’t been. (She’d been referring to them as ‘head colds’ because for some reason in addition to bleeding, cramps and nausea, her immune system decides to go on strike and she get cold-ish symptoms such as a runny or stuffy nose, a cough and a sore throat.)
So, let’s just say, this last week has been an Experience, folks. I have been fully enlightened to the absolute fuckery which is menstruation. What I am basically saying here is that I have not left the bed, and MBW is in and out fussing over me like she thinks it’s her fault. She better believe I’m going to return the favor if she gets one of these things again in the near future. I know all the tells now. You will not escape the extra fluffy pillows and heating pads, MBW.
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