The Post PMT Post

I wouldn’t swear on it but I believe PMT is an acronym for Preposterously Moody Times. I think there might be some science behind it all, perhaps something to do with the way the planets are lined up or such like but don’t quote me on that. Apparently the pain is a bit like a mild stitch and every bit as devastating as man flu. Nobody quite feels the full force of PMT like a partner; friends, parents’, children, strangers all seem to get off relatively scot free, whereas hubbies head on a plate would go some way to help the pain to subside a little.

Every so often this mysterious illness rears its ugly head and lingers for an indeterminate amount of time that feels infinite in husband years. I can usually tell when it’s approaching as I go from being a mild irritant to a fairly strong irritant overnight. It takes a little time to decipher whether I’m on the end of regular every day anger or super charged PMT anger. It seems that any attempt to communicate is the catalyst for a dose of PMT anger. As the answers get ever shorter, my questions begin to dry up until communication ceases altogether.

In terms of a strategy for dealing with the pain of a period I find the best one is to hide out in the bedroom and keep quiet. I take a supply of food and water and maybe a book or the I-pad to keep me company. I surrender the rest of the house to Mrs Under, for anyone who has read The Life of Pi it’s not dissimilar to the lifeboat scenario, me being Pi and Mrs Under being the fearsome Bengal tiger Mr Parker, the main difference being that I do not attempt to train her to be submissive by throwing fish at her (she would almost certainly kill me if I did that).

Could I suggest that if you do suffer from this frightful condition that you perhaps have a code for letting us simple men folk know. Perhaps when you’re in good health and everything is tickety-boo you could wear a green broach to say it’s safe you’re in no immediate danger. Then when you start to feel a little something something happening you could pop on an orange broach that says “my lava is starting to boil, I could erupt at any moment”. Finally when your well and truly under the spell of the ‘P’, put your lovely red broach on which works on so many levels and says to us men “stay the fuck away”. We could call it the Broach Code?

The good news is that as a man who has done his best to truly understand the inner workings of PMT I will be able to pass on all my wisdom to young Max. I will warn him that despite an overwhelming urge to suggest “suck it up princess”, there will only ever be one eventual winner and that person does not have a penis. I will tell him that when you are sent out for chocolate to help soothe the pain, don’t come back with dark, milk or white chocolate, come back with all three, that way you can’t possibly have “got the wrong bloody chocolate that she doesn’t even bloody like”. And perhaps most importantly I will pass on an old saying that has been passed down from generation to generation of Ross men, “yes darling, you’re absolutely right darling, how foolish of me”.

As always linking up with Jess at Essentially Jess