P. M. S.

P M S - Psychotic Mood Shift

I was always one of those women who thought PMS was a female copout; an excuse for poor behavior. A term used by women wanting permission to be held unaccountable for their crummy actions. (Read: berating their husbands, crying over a tub of ice cream while watching Extreme Home Makeover.)

I've spent the best years of my life enjoying 28 sane days between periods. No back pain. No breast tenderness. No mood swings. A little pimple or two, but only before age 22 and after age 35.
I was happy.
Likeable.

But not any more.

Be it known, between days 23 and 25, I switch from Dr. Jeckyll to Mrs. Holy-Shit-Look-Out-Her-Head-Is-About-To-Launch-Off-Her-Body-Because-The-Sun-Came-Up-Today.

Consider that your warning.


P M S - Perpetual Munching Spree

What is it with Days 20-26 of 'the month?'
I am the bottomless pit. Yesterday for lunch I ate tuna salad with spinach, alfalfa sprouts and celery in it. A diet coke, a half bag of tortilla chips with tzatziki and a giant apple. What's wrong with that, you ask? Nothing. It's a wonderfully healthy meal. It was the fourteen giant marshmallows, bowl of Cherry Chocolate Chuck ice cream, slice of toast and jam and 1/2 bag of chocolate chips I ate for desert.

The best day to start your diet is the day after your period begins. The worst day is any day between day 15 and 28. That, apparently, is the time in the month when anything within arms reach becomes fair food play.


P M S - Puffy Midsection

Explanation above.

Yesterday I was wearing the cutest striped sweater dress. I turned sideways and rubbed my belly like I was six months pregnant all over again. There was no sucking it in. Cue the sweatpants.


P M S - Pardon My Sobbing

Seal and Heidi Klum were on Oprah today. I cried. (Yes, I realize there is no reason for that.)


P M S - Pimples May Surface

I have worse skin now than I ever did at fourteen. Only now I have crow's feet, deep creases where I frown and large pores.

I look like a bad halloween mask. The oozie open sore kind.


P M S - Pass My Sweatpants

Pimples. Bloating. Yelling. Crying. Sweatpants.
NOT pretty.


It makes me almost unfit to be in public.
I will never again mock the pre-menstrual pain of millions of women everywhere.

Seriously.

Head ache.
Back ache.
Sore boobs.
Crying over NOTHING.
Exhaustion.
Explosive anger.
Pimples.

P M S - Potential Murder Suspect

Not even funny.
Has anyone seen my husband??