I don't believe in PMS. I think it's a cheap excuse created by insecure chauvinist pigs in an effort to dismiss astute points raised by brilliant women simply because it makes these jerks look insignificant.
I do, however, believe in mood swings. And I suspect my mood has been swinging lately.
Take this conversation my husband and I had yesterday:
Jason: What's for dinner?
Me: Fish.
Jason: Hooray!
Me: Hooray? Hooray? Hooray that my wife just spent her day stocking books, cleaning shelves, and vacuuming and shampooing the store carpets, and now she gets to go home and prepare me dinner? Is that what you're cheering? That you've got your own personal Dobby the House Elf?
Jason: Umm ...what?
Me: It's not like the flour and breadcrumbs mix themselves, and then the fish jumps into the breading and swims on over to the oil in the frying pan. Dobby has to do a lot of prep work before you get to eat, you know. (Starts crying)
Jason: I'm sorry! Why are you crying?
Me: Because it's your fault that Malcolm got kicked off of Survivor.
Jason: Umm ...what?
Me: It's your fault. You mentioned when we watched the first show that you hoped Malcolm won the million dollars, and you jinxed him. Now he's been voted off and I never, ever want to watch Survivor again, and it's all your fault!
Jason: Listen, you seem a little stressed. Why don't I take you out to dinner tonight?
Me: What, my cooking's not good enough for you? You insensitive jerk!
Jason: I give up.
Me: You would. You don't love me.
Jason: Yes I do.
Me: You don't know what love is!
Jason: Listen, you're talking crazy, and I'm tired of getting yelled at for nothing. I've had it!
Me: Please, let's not fight. I love you.
See? See how he twisted everything around on me there? I'd go into further detail about how I'm perfect and he's crazy, but unfortunately Dobby has to go make dinner now.
I do, however, believe in mood swings. And I suspect my mood has been swinging lately.
Take this conversation my husband and I had yesterday:
Jason: What's for dinner?
Me: Fish.
Jason: Hooray!
Me: Hooray? Hooray? Hooray that my wife just spent her day stocking books, cleaning shelves, and vacuuming and shampooing the store carpets, and now she gets to go home and prepare me dinner? Is that what you're cheering? That you've got your own personal Dobby the House Elf?
Jason: Umm ...what?
Me: It's not like the flour and breadcrumbs mix themselves, and then the fish jumps into the breading and swims on over to the oil in the frying pan. Dobby has to do a lot of prep work before you get to eat, you know. (Starts crying)
Jason: I'm sorry! Why are you crying?
Me: Because it's your fault that Malcolm got kicked off of Survivor.
Jason: Umm ...what?
Me: It's your fault. You mentioned when we watched the first show that you hoped Malcolm won the million dollars, and you jinxed him. Now he's been voted off and I never, ever want to watch Survivor again, and it's all your fault!
Jason: Listen, you seem a little stressed. Why don't I take you out to dinner tonight?
Me: What, my cooking's not good enough for you? You insensitive jerk!
Jason: I give up.
Me: You would. You don't love me.
Jason: Yes I do.
Me: You don't know what love is!
Jason: Listen, you're talking crazy, and I'm tired of getting yelled at for nothing. I've had it!
Me: Please, let's not fight. I love you.
See? See how he twisted everything around on me there? I'd go into further detail about how I'm perfect and he's crazy, but unfortunately Dobby has to go make dinner now.
Dobby is going to miss Malcolm.
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