For those of you who thought this little blog was simply a forum for me to gush about my super wonderful, handsome, funny, thoughtful and mathy (Mathy--He is far better at math than I, thus making him "Mathy." This is a valid description because I came up with it and I am the "Wordy" one) hubby-to-be, reading this little gem will dispel that theory within the next couple of sentences.
Today, I am writing about a subject so far from romance (in fact, its very arrival has thwarted many a romantic evening/morning/nooner)... And so outside the scope of acceptable conversation topics, we use euphemisms to talk about it: Aunt Flo, Surfing the Crimson Wave, O.T.R. (remember that one??), Taking your monthly ride on the Bi-Polar Express... actually I just came up with that. You can use it.)
Fellas, you may want to print this out and put it somewhere special so that you can remind yourselves what happens 12 times a year to the women you love most of the month.
Here is the answer to the question you have tried to spit out for years but then stopped in favor of just pouring two glasses of wine (both for your lady) and rubbing her feet (Bravo, by the way, if I am speaking to you here. Seriously. Don't stop doing that. For those of you who have not been "this guy," Stop Sucking.)
"What is it like to have a period?"
Well, I am glad you asked. And you know what? I'm glad you're still reading. Because this is important. And I'll be honest, I giggled my way through four years of School Nurse/Health Class VHS tutorials whose genres ranged from musicals to horror flicks because I could never get past the footage of those granny panties with the seven-inch pad stuck to them.
But now, I am the educator.
So, I suggest you Super Absorb this information:
The days leading up to one's period, the PMS week, if you will, is not something to be covered in this short little lesson. No, these days are their own beasts and no two are ever alike.
There are only two common threads I have found in all my years of PMSing:
My breasts are huge and amazing. They really are.
The other would have to be the insane cravings. These are not a myth.
I'm sorry, but a man will never know how delicious Cool Ranch Doritos are a couple days before your period. Chocolate tastes better, hell meat tastes better. I've always thought I retained water the days before my period, but I am pretty sure, I actually retain food. High-calorie, forbidden, salty food.
And I do not give a shit.
That is all I will say about PMSing.
If one woman says to another "What's up? You look kind of like shit." And the other woman says, "I'm on Day 1," the first woman knows.
Day 1 of your period is the worst.
Men, imagine it's Friday at 4:30. You have had a hell of a week at work, you have been up in the middle of every night this week with the kids' nightmares and pee sheets and not gone back to sleep and you have just picked the little turds up from school. They are fighting in the back seat, you're sitting in traffic and it's snowing out. Hard. Your windshield wipers are doing nothing but smear gravely snow across your windshield because your driver's side wiper needs to be replaced and you just haven't gotten around to it. The ass hat three cars in front of you must not have noticed the green "you can take a left now" arrow, because he waited four fucking minutes to do so and thus, you are stuck in the turning lane for another light, which means a few more precious minutes stand between you getting home and washing three ibuprofens down with a cold beer. The light at the end of your tunnel is that they are four and a half hours from bedtime and their mom, who has been gone for the past week, will be back next Thursday.
You're just ... uncomfortable.
You are fatigued & exhausted.
You're agitated, irritated, pissy and even though the last time you shed a tear was when your high school prom date made you go see "Titanic," (the theater was dark, but we know you wept silently) you are pretty sure you are moments away from a melt-down that, for some reason, you know in your heart of hearts is just going to happen.
Oh, and also, that dull lower backache you have had for the last three days has escalated to what can only be described as your bottom three vertebrae being fused together with shards of scrap metal and glass. Luckily, your intense stomach pains can distract you from this and you don't even feel self-conscious about the fact that you unbuttoned your pants after lunch and have been walking around that way for the entire afternoon.
True story.
I am not even being dramatic.
I will cry during commercials--and not just the Sarah Mclauchlin "Please stop abusing animals" commercials or those old iPhone Facetime commercials, but macaroni and cheese commercials... and commercials about whole-grain cereals coming from hard-working farmers.
I have sobbed my way through songs, People magazine articles and episodes of Scrubs.
It doesn't make sense.
I'll be honest: We hate feeling this way, guys.
Especially in front of you.
We know the cliched "Don't touch me, please hold me" paradox you are exposed to can be a bit ... much.
We really try not to be a bitch.
We try not to burst into tears.
And we even stop ourselves when we want to ask you for the third time if we look fat (sometimes we succeed, sometimes... not so much).
This is a frustrating time for us and no matter how supportive and wonderful you are, you will never understand. And that's fine.
This is all we ask: Just LOVE us. Don't smother us, don't look at us with those pity eyes and say "Not feelin so hot, huh?"
Just do this: Pour us a glass of wine, give us a kiss, take the kids out of the range of fire and maybe rub our feet (do NOT touch our stomachs. You have been warned.) Tell us we're beautiful (do not add "no matter what," by the way. You will not limp away from that).
Tell us we're amazing.
Make us feel like we're not falling apart.
Do not mock the situation--we will pick a fight and win. Even if we have to win by bursting into tears. And you will feel like an asshole. A confused, "what the hell just happened?" Asshole.
So not worth it.
Know that your loving lady will be back soon. In the meantime, baby us a little. Be that super sweet guy we gush to our girlfriends about. You will never, ever get more "points" than the points you get when you go above and beyond for your girl when she has her period.
Cue "The more You Knooooow" music.
Now, get up and get a cork screw.
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