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The Scary Stages of PMS

“Hey Lance!” I excitedly yell from the bathroom. “It happened!”

 “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.

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6 thoughts on “The Scary Stages of PMS

  1. This is why we talk to women. Cause we GET IT. I tried to explain it once to my husband. I CAN'T control it. If he would just stop being so annoying my talking, eating, and breathing all would be fine. Then the fun of the post PMS guilt. Oh so lovely to be a woman! 😉 Hope it passes quickly!

  2. I Hate IT. I hate the moment that I want to grab people by the ankles and bash their heads against brick wall, and yet I logically know it's just PMS, and yet CAN NOT stop feeling that way. I HATE the facial hair like a young man, and zits like a teen. Of course, the PCOS keeps me basking in that glory all month long. I hate wanting to whack my husband in the face when he kisses me. I hate that creepy crawly feeling as you feel it approaching, like the low rumble of an approaching stampede. I HATE that everything from the dust on the furniture, to the sound of the phone, to the fit of my clothes can be the trigger to a mass-murder moment. Just thinking about it is triggering it. I have felt it approaching for days. Another downside to the PCOS. Sometimes I PreMS for 2-3 weeks, then MS for 2 weeks, then postMS for 2 weeks, take a week off, and start over. And I hate that in that week off I have to run around putting out fires I started, and repairing bridges I burned. Sigh. I think I need chocolate. Or pink frosted sugar cookies. Or Marscapone Ice cream….

  3. I thought my PMS was bad until I was pregnant. Now those were some seriously scarey hormones. I’m surprised my stepson is alive as he seemed to bare the brunt. I think it was a instinct thing, kill off the other young so mine will survive. Still a monthly dose of “move or die” is always fun too.

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