Each month I find it harder and harder to keep it together when it’s “THAT TIME.” I’m sensitive to the light, I eat like it’s going to be declared illegal, I snap at the kids, and cry at Toy Story 3.
I’m a hot mess.
I’ve darn near overdosed on a Pamprin/Midol concoction and still feel like crap on a stick.
I went to GNC for a natural remedy and the kid called me “hon.”
Then he didn’t have the items I wanted but tried to compensate by selling me items for a menopausal woman (as if!), tried to send me to The Gallery for said items, and then had the audacity to tell me to smile.
That kid has no clue that the stylish poncho I’m wearing also doubles as a cover for the water weight I can’t shake. That my right knee is singing the blues because of bloat. And that I’m in ten moods today.
Why do people think a smile is all it takes to get rid of a bad day? I’m tired of always having to freaking pretend I’m fine when all I want to do is eat chocolate ice cream, wrap up in a blanket, and watch Judge Judy. I’ve had men tell me they look down on women who need time off when it’s THAT TIME, but I highly doubt the same creatures who need an IV drip of ginger ale for a cold can tolerate THIS monthly blessing.
When I told him that was condescending and I wasn’t his hon, he tried rattle off a tale about a man with no feet. I replied I knew a kid with one arm. He said we all have something to be thankful for.
Fool, please. When you have the feeling of someone kicking you in the back coupled with this:
|It could be worse|
and a headache that even Excedrin Migraine can’t dim, then we can trade tales about smiling. Until then, we could trade limbless stories all day, but that’s not my goal. My goal is to get something so I wouldn’t be a witch on wheels.
I need some true alone time. Since my kids and I like to eat, that won’t be happening any time soon.
You have been warned.