Most of you guys who have been around at least one woman, know that the last thing you should ask her is, “Is it that time of month?” or “Are you PMSing?” This should be a well-known fact. You know that the second those words come out of your mouth, you are about to experience a fiery wrath from a woman that you never thought was possible. Despite that notorious understanding, there are some you who still have the audacity to do so. You don’t even necessarily mean to say it in a douchebag way, but are sincerely trying to understand that moodiness that has consumed your once lovely sister, girlfriend, daughter, mother or wife. So I felt I should clue you in on some things.
I will preface this letter that even the best of you can still screw this up. I am blessed to have a very patient husband. He is rational beyond belief (almost to an annoying point) and understands, to the best of his ability, what this monthly gift encompasses. But, even him too, still seems to not completely comprehend the rules that stand when TOM is in town (aka: time of month).
Have you ever seen the show Charmed or watched any sort of exorcism movie? You all know the clip of where a demon has possessed someone’s body and although they have taken over the body, that precious person is still in there somewhere fighting for life. After fighting with this demon, you get a glimpse of the person you love for just a moment and see that she is still indeed alive and you just have to have hope and faith this demon will leave. This is what PMS is like.
Despite our best efforts, our emotions get the best of us. We cannot help it. We have no control. I’m sorry that when you asked if I was ready, that I responded in a tone that implied you were the dumbest person alive. I want to apologize for literally having to sit down and just cry because I was hungry. I apologize that despite you trying to just ignore the obvious mood swings, that I still got upset because you were not sympathetic enough.
But gentlemen, please, if you take one thing away from this. Please, for the love of God, please do not ever tell me to, “Calm down.” NEVER in the history of any language, have those two words ever achieved what you meant for them to do. In fact, you were just better off hoping I would self-destruct due to the fact that I was hungry and uncomfortable. But calm down? Are you kidding me? Do not ever tell any hormonal woman, ever, to just calm down.
I know that we are not easy. Half the time you have to do the opposite of what we say, understand that we don’t mean whatever we said when we were tired or hungry, and that for anywhere from 1-6 days a month we could be your worst nightmare. I am fortunate enough to have little moments where I do “come back” and can recognize that I am being completely ridiculous and irrational. However, please understand that in the heat of the moment I have no control. And as I have told a friend of mine, in the heat of the moment when I am infuriated, I’ve already committed. My brain might be screaming at me that I’m being foolish, but I’ve already committed to acting like a woman in the middle of war and you just need to hang in for the ride.
The last thing that I would like to persuade you to resist is cracking stupid jokes. After thoroughly being warned that we are not thinking clearly and are committed to burning down the city when we are enraged, please do not make some stupid sarcastic, smart-ass joke thinking it will go over well. I am already not feeling great. I’m hormonal. I’m frustrated for stupid reasons. And now you think it’s a good time to make a joke where the chance of the joke going over well is about equal to the chance of you winning the lottery. Not good.
Like I said before, it’s not easy. I cant recognize that hormones can get the best of us. But please remind yourself it’s just a storm. It’s not like this forever and you just have to be patient. Please recognize that now, more than ever, not only do we need your patience but we need that respect, that kindness, and your loving actions. If you notice I’m particularly testy, bring me chocolate and a nice glass of wine. Distract me. I will apologize on the behalf of all women who act crazy when TOM comes into town. TOM is a dick. We don’t do it on purpose and it’s not fun for us either. I would much rather be a go-with-the-flow gal and enjoy the evening.
A woman who sincerely hates TOM