lady, you need a whine cooler
No I didn’t spell that wrong, no matter what my spell checker says. It doesn’t always understand context, and in this case, the context is dead on the money. It has been one of those days. The kind of day that makes a woman desperate for a whine cooler.
Have you ever noticed how PMS just creeps up on you like a ninja? A freaking black suit wearing, sharp sword wielding ninja? One minute you’re fine, going about your business…not bothering anyone…when a particular song comes on the radio, and the next thing you know you can’t see to drive through the downpour of tears. So you pull over on the side of the road and use the floor mats to wipe your eyes and blow your nose. Five minutes later, you’re driving like a bat out of hell, following some burly man in a camouflaged pick-up truck with a gun rack in the back window because he cut you off, and you’re bound and determined to show him exactly where he can shove that elephant rifle…
Yeah…not a good day, right?
Once you’ve finished making the big scary man cry (because PMS makes you more terrifying than Freddy Krueger on steroids) you drive home to your nearest and dearest and proceed to plot their demise in the most horrible, painful way…a scenario you have memorized from last month, and the month before that…plans you don’t actually intend on carrying out, but laugh maniacally as you run them through your head nonetheless. God forbid someone should find your secret stash of chocolate and ice cream sandwiches…the consequences for eating those would be ghastly.
Before long, you feel like a social pariah, ready to snap at a single cross word, fully prepared to stab the next person who looks at you funny with a pencil, or a sharpened carrot stick. Instead, you take a few deep breaths and dig through the fridge for that frosty cold wine cooler to chill out your perpetual PMS whine.
So this is where I am on a fine Sunday evening, living in a place that doesn’t allow alcohol sales on a Sunday…the same day the pharmacy closes early, so people can’t refill their valium prescriptions (not that I have one of those, but that isn’t important right now) I also don’t have a single wine cooler in the house when I’m certain one would come in very handy. Luckily, my husband has a stash of dark chocolate hidden in the safe for just this sort of occasion.
Oh, I’m sure I’ll survive…I always do. Although, I can’t guarantee the same for the rest of you.
Until the next time…I’ll be whining.