"I have a question to ask," I said. "It's quite important to me, really."
"Sure," he answers, his eyes flicking between my face and the computer screen. Now is the time to point out that Jack has an extremely bad gaming addiction.
"Do you remember when you told me I wouldn't be a very good comedian? Why was that?" I asked.
He pondered for a moment, shrugging. "You are funny, I didn't mean to offend you with that. I just don't think women can be funny in a comedian sense."
"Then how am I funny?" I asked.
"You are eccentric," he explained. "You do good facial expressions, or you say funny things, spur-of-the-moment. Women just aren't good comedians."
"Why though?" I asked. His sexism has bothered me previously, though I'm accustomed now.
"Women are funny to other women," he explained. "You tell jokes about periods and how men don't understand you, and you find those jokes funny."
"So, if I was to be a comedian that never talked about periods or men, could I be funny?" I wondered aloud.
"No," he admitted. "I just think I will never find a woman funny."
"What about writing?" I asked. "What about comic writing?"
By this point, I was turning his chair to face me so that I had his full attention, which was quite a struggle. My need for attention, versus the computer game. I was losing.
"Could you be a comic writer, you mean?" he asked.
"Yes," I stated.
"I don't know," he shrugged. "I don't find books funny."
"Not even John O'Farrell?" I asked, flabbergasted.
"Even comedy books aren't funny," he shrugged. "Women find them funny..."
"Why do they?" I asked.
"Well, if it was a book about periods and men that don't understand, all the women in the world would buy it," he shrugged. May the record state I have never purchased a book about periods and ignorant men.
"So what about me?" I asked. "Could I write good comedy that the masses would like?"
"As long as it was about men and periods, yes," he decided. "You will only write good comedy that other women will enjoy about periods."
The first time I had a period, I was quite proud. I ran in to my mum's bedroom, and told her about the new guest in my underwear. My mum has always been quite proud of her menstruation, telling anybody within earshot, so I thought we would bond.
The next day at school, a spotty boy pointed as a small speckle of red blood on my granny tights and made a huge declaration: "She's on her period!" It seemed that by the end of the day, every person in the school had been made aware of my menstrual cycle. Girls who weren't as developed yet were the worst, thinking it hilarious to call me rude names like "Jam ragger" and "ketchup minge". I cringe just at the thought.
So don't blame me if, on my first attempts at comedy literature, I don't choose to write about periods.
