I mostly deal with the male gender. A vast majority of my friends are men. My only sibling is y-chromosomed. And, most of the humans with whom I work closely are of that persuasion as well. Throughout my experiences, I’ve discovered that men don’t understand women, particularly their mood swings. Men: You don’t have to understand it, just accept it.
Seventy-five percent of the time, I am hyper-logical and rational, especially considering I am anatomically constructed and genetically structured as a female. But, for approximately a week every month, my thought processes are commandeered by hormonal heretics. Not only is it difficult for men to understand me at that time, I cannot even understand myself. Everything becomes increasingly agitating. The fact that the female fat storage areas become engorged with excess water doesn’t help matters; looking in the mirror and seeing that my ass has taken over more real estate isn’t comforting. My appetite becomes more ravenous and unbearable fatigue overcomes me. Added bonuses come in the form of stomach and back pain. Any of those elements alone is discomforting, but combined, they’re a recipe for disaster (and bitchiness, obviously). Here’s a story about rationally inexplicable mood shifts.
It was 10 a.m. on Saturday and I was tremendously hungry. I opened the fridge and did a once-over. Nothing seemed immediately ready for my consumption. I grabbed a beer and closed the fridge. I then complained to my mom that the white American cheese my brother bought (specifically for me) got on my nerves because the slices are not individually wrapped and it takes too much effort to unbag the stack of cheese, pull a slice or two apart and then quickly wrap it again so that the whole thing doesn’t go bad. She assured me that she had already brought his attention to this cheese purchasing folly. I was still fucking hungry.
I opened the fridge again. This time, I had conjured up the motivation to break out the American cheese. I reached down to pull open the drawer housing said dairy product. But, to my extreme dismay, the drawer wouldn’t readily open as a result of the cheese jamming it. I closed the fridge, stomped my foot, turned to my mom and said, “I’m really upset.” Tears began streaming down my cheek. She approached me to give me a hug and asked what was wrong. In all seriousness I said, “I’m hungry and the cheese is really pissing me off. I can’t even feed myself.” The tears streamed down with more intensity. (Mind you, I’m 27, not 6.) She said, “You’re PMSing, aren’t you?” I nodded. She told me to go sit down and drink my beer and said she’d make me a sandwich with cheese, which she did. My mom is wonderful.
The point of the story is that our mood swings may not be rationally based (who cries over American cheese?), but we can’t always help it and it isn’t done to annoy you. It may seem like we’re crazy. I mean, don’t you think that I realize now that my kitchen temper tantrum was silly? Had anyone tried to tell me that in the moment though, it would have only increased the hysterics. So, what should you do if you’re around a hormonally inflicted woman? Repeat this mantra in your mind, “This too shall pass.” In a few days, the woman will snap out of the monthly imbalanced trance.
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