ok, who drank my wine?
I’m blogging about wine again. How many times does this make in such a short time? I don’t even know…I’ve lost track. But despite how it may seem on the surface…I swear I’m not a wino.
Really! I rarely drink wine, or even wine coolers, and I steer clear of anything stronger at all costs. I don’t take aspirin unless I really need it. Hell, I don’t even finish my prescriptions as directed! I’m a lightweight at best, and a control freak at my core, so consuming anything that takes the control out of my hands and puts it somewhere in the unseen mist is truly rare.
Enter the great game changer…PMS.
Someone up there is laughing at me, I know it. Laughing a sadistic little laugh and pointing. Pointing at my puffy eyes, splotchy skin, and bloated gut. Well, laugh on, you cosmic sadist. Go ahead, laugh on. I refuse to be broken by you, or anyone else. Do you hear that? I. Refuse. To. Be. Broken.
Oh screw it. I’m broken. All I do is cry.
Cry. Cry. Cry.
I cry when the sun goes behind a cloud. I cry when I step into the pant leg of my pajama pants, falling into the kitchen sink, splashing water onto my freshly washed Eddie Bauer sweatshirt, forcing me to change my clothes. Then I cry when I discover someone put the bag of chocolate chips away with only three freaking chips left in the bag. And let me just say…who does this? Someone with a death wish, perhaps? Someone foolish enough to tempt fate in the middle of the month? Someone with a broken cell phone and therefore can’t check the dates on the calendar? Oh, I suspect I know who you are…and you’re the same evil soul who drank the last of my fucking wine too, aren’t you?
And people, if you don’t already know this (and you really should) please don’t eat the last of the chocolate AND the last of the wine right in the middle of PMS week. It’s just not fair…or smart…or safe for that matter. I’m already unstable…already eyeing you like a hamburger in the Bugs Bunny cartoon with the castaways stranded on the desert island…so don’t tempt fate here. Play it safe. Bring me chocolate and back away slowly. Offer me wine and hope I slip off to sleep quickly.
Or sleep on the couch and keep one eye open.
I’ll be the one wandering the house aimlessly after dark, with a menacing groan, as I bump into walls on a futile quest for chocolate that may have been left in packing boxes. Something I may have missed from Halloween…or Christmas…maybe Easter.
If you notice a trail of chocolate powder leading through the house, it was probably me as I fed from the baking cocoa when I ran out of other options, because YOU couldn’t leave well enough (and my chocolate) alone.
Zombie invasions? Pfft…I laugh at zombie invasions. You’d better start reading up on how to survive an attack by a PMSing woman!
And you know who you are!