crabby times

Photo: Courtesy of Jari Dude

It’s that time of the month once again.

That time where everything just isn’t right, nothing makes sense, and no matter how many times you try to breathe deeply, you can’t help but pull the hair of that clueless taxi driver, bitch-slap the first person you see in the morning, or headbutt anyone who looks at you and smiles. Well, just in my mind, at least.

And if you’re a real, true-to-life woman (not a tranny with a successful operation under his belt – pun intended – who are one of my idols, by the way), you’ll understand what I mean by this.

Yes, I am PMS-ing.

(Ladies, let me get a “hell yeah!”)

And the more I think about it, the more I realize: why do we have to put up with this shit anyway? Who gave permission to Auntie Flo that she could just come and wreak havoc on our lives, huh?

Also? I’ve been at this for like, more than a decade now, and she still does this to me?

I

am

just

too

old

for

this

shit.

And will I fall prey to this vicious cycle next month? No to the way to the Jose! (I hope.)

So I did what any sane, responsible woman would do in this situation: I consumed almost a pint of chocolate ice cream, and then had powdered Milo for dinner.

 

Sometimes, a girl is left no other choice but to let her vajayjay rule the world.