Pride Cometh Before The Fall
Yesterday I was congratulating myself.
I was all, OOOH, look how great I am?! See, I started my period and NO PMS, no bloating, no cramps, NOTHING. Zip zero nada. I am super woman! Able to overcome hormones in a single bound!
Then last night the mood swings began. Not that I took terrific notice of them, as far as I was concerned they were normal. In fact, they were more than normal, they were justified.
Then today during my normal afternoon walk I bought a lemon square. Okay, slightly counterproductive, but when was the last time I had a lemon square?! Geez, let up on yourself old girl! So I did.
Then I had some well placed rage on a few key individuals. So long overdue that really I gave it hardly a thought.
Yes, yes, burn in Hell why don't you? Well it's about time someone told you to put a bag over your fugly face!
In my own mind I was saving mankind.
I think it's the bag of cookies that tipped me off to the traitorous hormones surging through my body.
While contemplating the reasons for Bob Newhart and Tony Danza always using their real names (are they just that stupid?), and munching on cookies (man was Tony hot on Who's the Boss? or what?) I realized something. Something important and significant.
PMS sucks.
I was all, OOOH, look how great I am?! See, I started my period and NO PMS, no bloating, no cramps, NOTHING. Zip zero nada. I am super woman! Able to overcome hormones in a single bound!
Then last night the mood swings began. Not that I took terrific notice of them, as far as I was concerned they were normal. In fact, they were more than normal, they were justified.
Then today during my normal afternoon walk I bought a lemon square. Okay, slightly counterproductive, but when was the last time I had a lemon square?! Geez, let up on yourself old girl! So I did.
Then I had some well placed rage on a few key individuals. So long overdue that really I gave it hardly a thought.
Yes, yes, burn in Hell why don't you? Well it's about time someone told you to put a bag over your fugly face!
In my own mind I was saving mankind.
I think it's the bag of cookies that tipped me off to the traitorous hormones surging through my body.
While contemplating the reasons for Bob Newhart and Tony Danza always using their real names (are they just that stupid?), and munching on cookies (man was Tony hot on Who's the Boss? or what?) I realized something. Something important and significant.
PMS sucks.
