PMS
When I have PMS, there aren't enough steaks or chocolates or bottles of wine or brie cheese wedges in the world.
And here I sit watching Dr. Phil. Uh-huh. I hear your judgment. This particular episode is called "Big Love." It's about men who prefer very big women.
Well. I thought I had something interesting to say about this, but I guess not.
I also should say, that when I have PMS, there aren't enough brain cells in the world to support my suddenly deficient mental capabilities. Alas, I shall pour another glass of wine.
And here I sit watching Dr. Phil. Uh-huh. I hear your judgment. This particular episode is called "Big Love." It's about men who prefer very big women.
Well. I thought I had something interesting to say about this, but I guess not.
I also should say, that when I have PMS, there aren't enough brain cells in the world to support my suddenly deficient mental capabilities. Alas, I shall pour another glass of wine.
1 Comments:
When I have PMS I always get that snarling lip curl look. Then when I'm asked what's wrong I blow up shouting, "Nothing is wrong! I'm fine! I'm DAMN fine! And I'd be a lot more fine if you'd leave me the hell alone! Now who has my damn chocolate? Who ate it?"
After which I will later wake up in a pile of little Dove chocolate foil wrappers and empty diet soda cans.
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