Why is it that when we get together, I’m not going to tell you that from the time you walked in, I’ve been sizing you up, unconsciously, by comparing my body, hair, and child to yours? Or that I canceled our last lunch date and told you that I was simply “cramping” when I really wanted to say that I felt like I was dying and felt all alone and wanted my mama and questioned why the good Lord had to give us cycles every month?