Ladies Stuff

I hate men. My reason for this is simple, they are not women.

Their bodies do not turn against them every month with an internal cleaning system and as reward for some tipsy Christmas nookie don’t attempt to excreta something the size of a melon out of a hole the size of a five pence piece mid September. So, I hate them.

I felt relieved to find that becoming pregnant would put a halt to the internal cleaning for a while, little did I realise that it would be replaced my morning, lunch and evening sickness. Nice.

Month to month I sail through the year predominantly liking the opposite sex. It’s just for approximately five days roughly around the 8th of each month I turn into what is commonly known as a nut job. From being a totally (well almost) rational, considerate woman I become an erratic, self centred drama queen in the space of 24hours. If I am honest no man stand’s a chance, least of all The Man .

Last night he insisted on asking me what was wrong with me. Never a good move on the 8th. I proceed in telling him just about all that was actually wrong with him including a fair few that were made up. Totally mean and uncalled for, but hey, it is the 8th, it all goes downhill from here. For the next four day’s he will witness all emotions within this body of mine. Tears at adverts, laughter at men’s misfortune, and of course rage at just about everything.

By day five the red mist over my eye’s will have lifted and lovely devoted wifey will return in the nick of time before he leaves with the kids. A few weeks of respite will of course follow just for the whole cycle to start up again.

I should feel guilty for my awful behaviour, maybe even apologise, but for now methinks the best thing would be a bar of chocolate. I might even buy the man one.