“Are you sure?” He says, looking me over with suspicion and restrained joy.
“I think so!” I didn’t really have time to check it twice. I was just too excited. We spend a couple of minutes high-fiving each other and calling our closest friends. This was GREAT news.
I’m not pregnant. I got my period! Our elation wasn’t even that I wasn’t pregnant, either. The uterus burning ceremony was affective. I don’t even need to worry about that. It was that we had made it through another premenstrual cycle. We all survived.
We had survived well, too! We marveled at my lack of facial hair, zits and spiky tail. My husband still had all of his limbs and most of his ego. I had not scarred my children forever with abhorrent displays of extreme vacillations between red hot rage and fits of deep sadness. I was not bloated. I hadn’t been too mean. I hadn’t burned any metaphorical or literal bridges. In fact, I had set NOTHING on fire. It was a time of joy and celebration.
Alas, it was not meant to be. I was wrong. I won’t get into the nitty gritty details, because they’re gross. I’m premenstrual right now. And it’s bad.
It’s really bad.
Have you ever seen the “Bad Girls Club”? Or a dog fight? Now imagine the two mashed together, but instead of dogs, dragons, and instead of the chicks on that show (which I’ve never really watched: everything I need to know I’ve learned from “The Soup”) honey badgers. All in one woman with the bloat of a four day old whale carcass and the facial hair and acne of a 15 year old boy.
Even without the physical symptoms, I know it’s coming. I feel it stirring within the marrow of my bones. Indignant rage. Road rage. Virulent rage. Narcissistic rage. All of the rage. I have dreams where I’m yelling at people. I have realities where I’m yelling at people. And the people cower and the children cry.
There really is no point to this post other than this: HIDE. You really should HIDE NOW. You think a Zombie Apocalypse is bad? It’s nothing compared to making me wait at a self-serve checkout and not have anyone there when something inevitably goes wrong. I’ll chew your face right off.
In fact, I’m craving face right now.