God is a Man

Sometimes, like today, I really don't like being a girl. No offense, boys, but I think if you had to put up with just one day of the shit we have to deal with, you'd be alot more understanding.

Though, honestly, I don't think you would be able to put up with the shit we have to deal with. Men don't understand what it's like to have your body basically go to war with you every so often. You have no control over it, it just causes you pain and annoyance and you have to somehow co-exist in this rebellious shell. Body and brain are at odds. I want to go for a walk, it's a beautiful day, but my body says "Yeah, go ahead and try bitch, and I'll have your ass doubled over with cramps faster than you can say, "Ouch"".


Am I cranky today? Yes I bloody well am. I could bite your head off with one snap of my finely sharpened teeth. Rip your eyeballs out with one glare from my green piercing evil eyes. Growl at you in a voice so deep and menacing you'd think there was a wolf in the house.

Yeah, I'm cranky today.

Honey, please bring home flowers and maybe some strong whiskey. Place them gingerly on the floor and then stand back. If I rip them to shreds, you should then repair to the nearest room with a lockable door. If I come up to you and just want a hug and a cry, then you are safe. You have been warned.

I'll be better tomorrow, I promise.



POSTSCRIPT, NINE HOURS LATER:
So the hubby calls me and says, "You want I should bring flowers?" Which sort of DEFEATS THE WHOLE PURPOSE OF BRINGING HOME FLOWERS! Don't freaking ask me, Yutz Boy, just do it. Hello, surprise??

So I bit his head off. It did not taste good, kind of fatty. I spit it out.