P.M. f**!ng S. (redux)

My scolio’s acting up. 

My case is actually very minor and hardly intrusive but the dreaded pre-menstrual syndrome tends to amplify its presence in my lower back. 

When I woke up this morning and tried to pick up my pillow which had fallen on the floor, I winced in pain like an old woman with rheumatism.  I cursed.  And cursed.  AND cursed.  Until I was finally able to bend my body in a way that inflicted the least pain on my pelvic bone.

During those fifteen minutes of struggle, my mind was already composing my would-be rant about the hazzards of PMS-ing when I remembered an entry I wrote in my old blog a few years back which perfectly describes it.  And I’m reposting it here to serve as a reminder why men should be more than extra nice to us during this time of the month!

"P.M. f**!ng S." 

it’s that time of the month that occurs before that time of the month when a woman gets all bloated and temperemental, destroying everything within a ten-mile radius. she looks in the mirror and sees how large her belly AND hips have expanded over the last three days. what’s supposed to be a one-hour sprucing up becomes a three-hour preparation as she changes from one outfit to another, trying to figure out which blouse conceals her flabs the best and which bottom has the power to slim down her paddle-like thighs.

and then there are also the blemishes that appear out of nowhere and, ooh, those little–shall we call them pimplettes?–pimples that seem to have sprung overnight. this combined with the sudden opening of her emotional floodgates make up for one helluva exasperating week.

imagine having to go through that every single fu**!ng month.

Get it?!