Damn, it's the PMS fairy...

This week I haven't been the easiest person to be around.   At a risk of sounding cliched it's "that time of the month" and I was, as I am wont to do, miraculously transformed into "The Bitchiest Of Them All".

Consider this a formal apology to anyone I may have offended, yelled at, cried on, or tried to stab with a letter opener.

I have no idea how I can miss it, but it's the same story every month. It doesn't matter how moody I get, or unreasonable, or homicidal, I always end up putting it down to the general lunacy of the world around me. It's only once the madness is over that I realise my hormones may have had a tad to do with it.

When I was practically spitting with rage at the Post Office, I didn't have a clue. When I was jubilant at receiving a top score on Candy Crush, it never struck any warning notes. Finally, when rather than going across the street to get a drink I opted to burst into tears because the machine in the parking lot had run out, I realised that maybe it was me.

Okay, I'll admit it.  I'm an unreasonable shrew when I'm PMSing.  I'm bitchy and sarcastic and completely intolerant of the world around me.  I can totally see why people would get jack of me and wish me a very quick and painful demise.

But I've noticed that there's a distinct difference in the way women and men react to it.

A woman will think I'm being hard to get along with.  They may even tell me that.  In fact, I kind of rely on certain women I work on to warn me when I'm approaching "terminal bitchiness".  But not once to my recollection has a woman ever told me to suck it up or to get over it.  Women understand that you can control the beast, but you can't destroy it.

However, those are expressions I've heard from plenty of men in my time*.  And the most galling thing is it's not because it's not because they're offended or upset by my behavior or attitude.  No, it's because they see it as a weakness.

So, as a service to all women, I just need to make one thing clear.

Whatever you may think gentlemen, you don't know what it feels like.  No, you don't!  Until you've wanted to rip someone's throat out for drinking the last diet coke, had a nervous breakdown about the limescale in the bathroom, come within a hairs breadth of making out with a tub of rocky road ice cream, and burst into inconsolable tears at the laundromat because you ran out of twenty cent pieces for the detergent machine, all within the span of about two hours, you don't get it.

So lay off, unless you want to find out just how much I'm controlling myself.


* My apologies for the generalisation to all you sweethearts of the masculine persuasion who don't act that way.  I know that some of you are very understanding and patient.