August 02, 2013

How to survive PMT.

That title is completely misleading as I don't actually fucking know.

What I do know, however, that as much as the female body in indeed a splendorous thing and has many useful features, it is never-ending in it's challenges. That it throws at you.Constantly.

Take getting older.

You might have had your babies, been through all sorts of wondrous and mysterious changes and just as your kids are old enough to get themselves of to school by themselves, and you lull yourself into a false sense of security that the tough times are behind you, your body has completely different ideas.

Yes. I am talking about PMT.

Men, you have permission to click away now.

PMT has never really been an issue for me until recently. Before, it was all like... "Oh, so that is happening. What a pain in the ass.." and then it was like stiff shit and on with the show.

Nowadays. Things play out a hell of a lot differently.

Firstly I am joined by my old friend Hermoine The Hormonal Zit, and quite often a few of her friends. And like licking the end of a battery, I know I need to leave Hermoine alone, but I am drawn to her like a moth to a flame. 

Hermoine is my weakness in times like these. Ditto chocolate, Maggie Beer Ice cream, long, complaining phone conversations with my mates, dirty looks at my spouse and very deep breaths when it comes to dealing with the Woogettes.

And the whole thing is just getting fucking worse.

Don't even start me on anything boob related. Or bloating. Or crying loudly or weeping softly.

I recall back in the day, sending Mr Woog up to the servo to buy 3 Wagon Wheels, a packet of Panadol and a box of tampons. The attendant looked at him sympathetically, before wishing him a lovely evening.

Like THAT was about to happen.

Interestingly enough, about 3 months ago I sailed through the beginning of the months with naught a twinge from the old bod. After 7 days with no sign of Flo.... I started crying.


It was a false alarm, but that did not stop me from being VERY alarmed and Mr Woog was sent to the doctor for a note allowing him permission to be neutered.

So in conclusion to this over-share, I have learnt that although the female body is indeed a wondrous thing, she is also a total bitch, a sucker for punishment and will always and forever remind me that I am alive.


Now pass the wagon wheels and shut to door on the way out. Unless you have wine. Then you may stay.

When does all this shit stop?
Is it getting worse for you?

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