Thursday, June 18, 2009

P to the wizzeehh


Praise the heavens that the big P is over. Honestly.

It's not so much the actual surf of the crimson wave that I loathe. It is the PRE-menstrual part. Although I've never read about this specifically on the back of a Midol box, I'm positive my regular PMS/disorder symptoms include (in addition to the regular bloating, anxiety, depression, etc):

*Sudden urge to gun down other drivers on the road (seriously, it's why I don't carry a concealed weapons permit. You think I'm joking? Think again. I'd use it.)

*Freakish weeping over Allstate insurance and Eharmony commercials

*Husband morphs into a victimized representative of the "other" sex, the one that doesn't have to deal with the cyclical torture of periods. War of the sexes begin suddenly when a normally much appreciated affectionate touch is responded to with this:

Wife: "Whoa, whoa, whoa...why are you touching me?"

Husband: "I thought maybe you'd like a back massage?"

"I'm not interested in one of your agenda rubs, thank you very much."

"Well, I was offering it for free."

"OOoh, suuuure! Just like a loan from MoneyTree or those car title places. Listen buddie, I've been a victim long enough of this sort of passive aggressive tomfoolery. I prefer that you just stay on your side of the couch while I finish this pan of brownies. And I don't care if I'm fat, so you can just kiss off."


"I don't think you're fat."


"Ohhh, puhhhlease. Would you stop trying to get lucky with me already!"

"I'm not! I'm saying I don't think you're fat!"

I can see now how a conversation like this is just so pitifully twisted. The poor man will never win. But at the time, it all made perfect sense to the hormonally imbalanced self.

Then I'm graced a few days later with my monthly visitor. When I casually mention it to Tyler at some point during the commencement of this special week, he gets a satisfied smirk on a his face and mumbles under his breath,
"I knew it."

To which I question hastily (with a wide eyed look of innocent dismay), "What's that supposed to mean?"

5 comments:

Amy said...

Oh Rae... I completely understand. The other night while lying in bed (and out of the blue I might add... okay... well maybe after a semi-crisis-break-down) Chad told me he always knows when I "start" and when I "finish." How? I cry when it visits and I cry when it leaves. I won't even mention what goes on in between.

Jacob Hansen said...

heeeeeaaaaaack......heeeeeeeaaaaaaaaaaackkkkk heeeeeeeaaacccccck..hack hee ugh blaaaaaagggg hack****. Sorry I was just dry heaving while reading MY SISTER WRITE A BLOG ABOUT HER PERIOD!!!!!! Luckily i only read the first 3 lines and then ran like hell. RACHEL NEVER ANOTHER POST LIKE THIS....haaaaaeeeckkkkkkkkkkk** Sorry i just puked a little bit

Daron and Jamee said...

I am laughing at you and holding my very bloated (not from the crimson tide either) belly!! Please stop making me laugh. It hurts.

Ouch.

Jamee

Rae's Corner said...

Jacob-

You're going to make a girl veeeery happy someday.

Wait, why aren't you married yet?


hahaha.

Alexandra said...

I hear ya girl!!! A visit from Aunt Rose is the most unpleasant time in a womens life!

Alex