PMS is the bane of my existence. Sometimes I will get away with a mere irritated mood that I recognise straight away as PMS, For example; The cat is breathing too loud and Cabbage left his canoe shoes out AGAIN, *Rolls eyes,*Swallows the urge to throw the shoes at his groin. I remind myself that it’s probably PMS, and I make mental notes to try not to be irrational, go buy a large bag of Pascal’s chocolate éclairs, curl up with the iPad and watch seven episodes in a row of My Dream Home and get over it.
Other times, my PMS sneaks up on me, I will have an outburst about very valid things, I have been known to shout things like “It’s the maids day off; you will have to clear your own plates. If those around me don’t immediately check their calendar, recognise my PMS before I do and carry out my very reasonable request in a timely manner, then this may escalate to, I AM NOT A MAID!! Which then escalates to “WELL WHY Don’t I JUST DO IT MYSELF THEN?? SEEING AS I DO EVERY.FUCKING.THING ELSE!!”
Yeah, it’s attractive. Whilst my reactions to some things may not be that of a ‘Stable’ person, I feel validated in my anger, also everyone can fuck off, and I go buy a massive bag of Pascal’s chocolate éclairs, curl up with the iPad and watch seven episodes in a row of my dream home, whilst occasionally scowling at everyone because my house does not look like those in the program, because everyone is an ingrate, because I have to do EVERY. FUCKING. THING, also fuck off with your loud breathing cat…
I will enviably recognise these symptoms of PMS, but if anyone dares mention it, i.e.; Cabbage, then look out.
Then every now and then, when my PMS aligns perfectly with a full moon and an untidy house, and a sociopathic budget announcement , and Gina Rinehart’s mug fucking head peering at me from every media surface, then I have been known to experience bouts of what can best be described as Megatron PMS.
Examples of this can be seen
It is during mega PMS, when I am most likely to embarrass myself, and/or those around me. I recognised the first symptom of impending Megatron PMS this morning, when the Teen missed the School bus on a NAPLAN day, which then involves me having to drive him, and find a park and walk into the office with a note explaining that he missed the bus, I then have to provide an oral evaluation of what I have already written in the note, then sit through the judgmental looks of condescension over the top of the office ladies bifocals, then run back to the car before the unreasonable parking limit of 2 minutes expires and I end up getting another parking ticket and THIS HAPPENS again.
In summary, I was running so late, and I hate being late, I hate rushing and being rushed. All was going fairly smoothly however, with everyone buckled in and smiling with clean teeth, faces and uniforms and everyone remembered to get their bag, which seems simple enough and yet we arrive at school sans bag surprisingly more often that you would think. This however was not what made me mad.
What did though, was driving along when out of nowhere, this fucking clown in a company van with advertisements for the packaging company he clearly worked for all over it, doing at least 20k’s over the speed limit, almost T-Bones the side of my car when he shoots through a give way sign. Luckily for me I saw said idiot in advance and managed to slow and swerve with enough time to avoid a collision.
Do you know what he did to show his gratitude for my making up for his lack of being a safe driver? HE HURRY USHERED ME WITH HIS HANDS in some grand gesture to allow me to pass ahead of him.
Yeah... Nuh. Not today sunshine.
So I calmly place the car in park. I stepped out of my vehicle and made a few gestures of my own, one involved a rigid extension of my middle finger and the other drew a large triangle in the air, similar to that of the give way sign he clearly disregarded and in case my charades were lost on him I then made jab like pointing gestures to the actual give way sign.
I fumbled around in my centre console, caring not for my ass crack on full display and grabbed a pen and paper and proceeded to write down his number plate, the name of the company on the truck and the company telephone number conveniently written in bold orange Lucida Fax font on the side of the van.
I then delivered the children safely to school, came home, picked up the telephone and dialled. I then proceeded to let rip to the answerer of the other end at exactly what a massive douche their driver was, I reminded the answerer that the driver and his actions were a direct reflection of their company and again what a massive douche this driver was before I slammed the end call button.
It was then that my spidey sense began tingling to my impending Megatron PMS.
This is symptom number one. I call it, HOWS MY DRIVING?
You know megatron PMS is impending when you are running late and you will make yourself later by taking the time to complain incessantly, loudly, publically and then by telephone about the driving of another person.
Consider yourself warned Cabbage.
Anyway... if you need me, I’ll be curled up on the lounge with a bag of Pascal’s chocolate éclairs watching My Dream House.
Ever experienced how’s my driving PMS?