in which she finds a cure

One cure for PMS is as follows:

Leave work a bit early.

Come home, crash.

Husband calls you at 6 saying that he is at the pub with some work buddies. He'll be home in an hour.

You, now that you are awake, decide to open a bottle of wine. Discover bottle of German red wine that was purchased in Berlin.

Germans make DAMN fine red wines.

No, really. (sip) They are good. (sluurp) Damn fine red German wines. (glug)

Drink said bottle of German wine. Cook massive amount of pfifferlinger, following simple traditional German recipe. Now have iron clad excuse for having opened bottle of German red wine: you needed it for the pfifferlinger. (No matter that you only needed, like, an ounce. A recipe is a recipe, right? I needed the ingredient.)

Husband said he would be home at 7. 7 comes and goes. So screw him, he's late, did I mention this wine is damn fine (sip) and serve self pfifferlinger with a nice steak and spatzle.

Continue with wine. (gulp) Damn, DAMN fine German red wines. Why aren't these more famous?

Damn, damn fine German red wines. pms? cramps? who cares! (slurp)