It was one of those days. You know the ones I mean: every nice gesture, friendly smile and murmured greeting grates on your nerves like the sound of fingers slipping over wet Styrofoam.
Maybe it’s just me, but I think I may have more of these kinds of days than most people. There are tell-tale signs that I am in one of these moods: you smile at me, I grimace in return; the longer you talk, the more my shoulders hunch and my head sinks down to my chest; the longer the day, the less my words are comprehensible between growls and snarls. If you are of the male persuasion, you will probably get it worse, because puzzlement only increases my frenzied anger, much like a dog that smells fear. And yes, ladies and gentlemen, my mood has everything to do with the cycle of the moon.
There are rules, however. The cardinal rule is as follows: Thou shalt NOT mention the letters “P-M-S” nor anything related to this specific hormonal imbalance until I have done so myself. Let me give an example.
Unacceptable phrase: “Oh, I get it. You’re PMSing again, aren’t you?”
Acceptable phrase: “Gee, is anything wrong? What can I do to make you feel better?”
There is one other way to appease the savage beast: large amounts of either sweet or greasy foods, depending on the logically-challenged PMS monster. But do not try to hand feed the beast. Set the offering at its feet, and back away slowly, else your head will be next on the menu.