It’s My PMS and I’ll Complain if I Want To

That’s right. PMS!!!! Be afraid. Be very afraid! Run far and don’t stop until there are no thundering footfalls behind you or huffy voices ringing in your ear. If there’s a hint of a whine in any voice, tune it out. Come back in a week–I promise all will be well.

If only there were a way to put a ban on PMS. “Warning: All Pre-Menstrual Syndrome symptoms are hereby prohibited from approaching any female body in the country of ________. Violators will be electrically shocked, then incinerated. Females suspecting PMS attacks may use whatever means necessary to defend themselves.

Or maybe some sort of internal system that warns anyone about to have a conversation with a PMS-prone woman, “Please be advised: This woman is subject to hormonal circumstances beyond her control and is not entirely sane at this time. We advise you to either send her an email or try again in a week. Thanks for your cooperation.

Why must raging hormones translate into raging emotions? Why must the natural and otherwise relatively quiet process of eggs being transported out of our ovaries, then flushed out of our uteruses be accompanied by so much ANGST?! Angst that not only makes us our own enemies, but lashes out to attack everyone around us, too, except maybe that hot delivery guy at our door. Him, we adore! Where was I?

If I’m PMS-ing, I don’t like to be surprised. The audacity of you to not think about giving me notice! If I’m PMS-ing, it’s always your fault, until I realize I’m PMS-ing. Then I’m too embarrassed to admit to it. Why, oh WHY can’t I control. These. HORMONES?

There’s a pill for everything else–why isn’t there a pill to cancel the effects of PMS? Or is it kept on the down-low, away from us “small-timers” (that’s what they think)?

Am I ranting? Sorry. Internal warning device must be defective. Sanity will return in a week. I promise.

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