Look Out!

I can only hope that no boys are reading this. And by boys, I mean anyone who has a penis, no matter how old. I like to refer to the male human as a boy. My propensity to do this used to really annoy the colllege boys, but I can’t help it. If I’m a girl–which I am–then they are boys.

All that to say that this upcoming week will be that glorious time when I turn into the Evil Mel. I will be looking into the corners of the cupboards in search of something even remotely cookie-like. I will probably stomp my feet at least once and scream, “THIS IS DRIVING ME CRAZY!” I will think I am ugly and fat and, don’t bother telling me differently, I will know that you are lying to me because I do have a mirror, by the way, and don’t be condescending to me. I will cry for no reason. I might grit my teeth so hard that they ache. And don’t lie and say that avoiding chocolate helps premenstual syndrome. I know better. And no, I won’t share. Give me those M&Ms back.

It doesn’t matter that I am aware of my cycles and these patterns. I will just be irrational. I will probably pick a fight with the women on the message board where I hang out. I will stub my toe on a shoe and scream out, much louder than necessary, just because I have so little self-control. I will seriously consider whacking off all my hair because it is so hideous and unstyleable.

Of course, my husband has gone to visit a woman who is dying and tomorrow he’s taking YoungestBoy to a baseball game at 10 a.m. and then he has some volunteer work to do at the pool and then he’ll have to visit the dying woman again. And that means I will be in this house, with these kids, for an entire Saturday again, so help me God.

So if you hear some shrieking and some foot-stomping, don’t worry. That’s just me enjoying my womanhood. Now look away.

This won’t be pretty.