Like it's my job, I'm a religious charter.
Of my period that is. My menstrual cycle, my anticipated visit from Aunt Flo, my monthly reminder that I am indeed without child.
And so I'm very aware of how it all goes down. The days leading up to the premenstrual lunacy that is about to ensue.
But even though I'm completely experienced in the whole deal, I am still 100% taken aback by how much I HATE...triple fucking...HATE, HATE, HATE my period.
Bloated, crampy, irritable, fatigued, hormonal, and frequently irrational is not even the half of it.
I am one mean, in-your-face screaming, crying, over-the-top raging bee-yatch.
Exhibit number one...I can not, I mean can not deal with slow service people. And by service, I mean the only service that I indulge in...Starbucks. So, yesterday, when I needed some caffeine and had a 20 minute window to get it in between slamming 15 grocery items in a cart, comforting a teething toddler and trying to get back to pick up my daughter from ballet....
I had NO time, patience, or interest in watching the Starbucks barista at Target gently sprinkle the Pumpkin spice on top of a patron's latte. Bitch...just give me the iced coffee before I cut your throat. I modified that so that I could write it in my blog. Much worse in real life.
Exhibit number two...my kids. "Mama...why do I have to do a spelling quiz every day after school? Come on." Because it's 15 God damn words and you will get an A + in this subject if it's the death of me. Now sit your ass down and write. I didn't give up a career and back burner my graduate degree to hear your whiny little ass moan and groan. Suck it up. That was modified as well.
Exhibit number three..me to my husband. "Damn it! Why do I always incessantly look like I'm 3 months pregnant? Fat Ass Anonymous here I come." To which he simply shakes his head and I say, "I know that look...you're trying to figure out how to not answer the question, so that you don't have to admit that I am a fat ass. Well fuck you too." Yep, another slight modification.
As I lament these period trials and tribulations to my girlfriends, they all echo the same sentiment, "Yep, that's just the period talking."
Well, shut the fuck up, period. You're not welcome here anymore.
Whew, I feel better. Now, where's the chocolate?