Ugh!! It’s that dreaded time of the month again!! Periods!! As I’m writing this, I am experiencing the crummiest, bloated, at the brink of nausea feeling that’s basically making me feel miserably crappy in spite of such a great day.

I swear men who complain about their pains and how they battle laziness and erections, NEED a piece of PMS to stop their eternal whining. Don’t get me wrong, I truly admire all the pros of periods for females, but honestly those 5 days of Eve’s share of redemption just freakin’ piss/scare/waste my mental nuts off.

First it starts with the cravings. Chocolate shakes, nuts, cakes, fries…yes all those things to explode my already untrimmed waistline. Then comes the largess of lethargy. WW3 could start in my backyard and I would be snoozing dead deep in my bedcovers. Then I start thinking if my already failing diet is proving too hazardous for my limbic system. I reach for the calendar…then  freeze, everything starts running in slow motion, the first word that comes in my brain starts with a ‘P’ or a ‘M’. In most conventional cases my suppressed sailor vocabulary just starts waltzing out of my mouth. I face the calendar; look at last month date and then count 10,20,28,30….uhuhh.

NOOOO!!! There is a mirror right next to me…I stare, unable to comprehend the person staring back. Pale skin, deep set shadows under eyes, mouth pressed into a hard line…no that’s not Bella Swan…it’s my face reeling from the biological factor of todays date.

Qrum, qrum, ghoonghum, qrumqrum…yes that’s my stomach; bracing itself for the first wave of nausea. Suddenly I feel as if a stone just dropped in my uterus. CRAMP ALERT!! I frantically drop whatever I’m holding, rush to my dresser, take out that blasted bag exclusively equipped for this emergency. Bathroom rush. EFFING HELL!!

‘GET OUT OF THE BLASTED SHOWER!’ I yowl through the keyhole.

“…and then I put my hands up, playing my song…”comes the singsong reply.

Dang it, detour to parents bathroom…lock the door. Huff puff, puff puff, huff. Lift the toilet seat. Bless my mom’s OCD with cleaning. My brain overloaded with the blessed citrus smell of the toilet bowl, I hunch down in front of the seat.

Okay, now I’m getting really hot. In other cases this expression may be employed during ovulation, when a girl can’t help but be in a constantly sexed up state of mind, but this hot is a bad hot. I’m sweating profusely. My pupils dilate with the sheer horror on the ominous coming. Tiktok tiktok. I take a breather and swallow a fistful of pills for nausea, cramps, stomach congestion and the prescribed Kalium phosphoracium 6x to keep my nerves intact. Waiting…still waiting…hmm maybe the nausea is over. Hallelujah first time without-GHRURGH!..pantpant…GHRURGH…help…GHRURGH,URGHFFF…mommy…GRURHFF.