What sort of man tells a woman…a woman in the throes of PMS…she can’t have chocolate?

A man on the edge…that’s who.

Surely this is grounds for divorce. Possibly justifiable homocide…or really nasty looks at the very least!

I get his motivation…as misguided as it may be. He has made a decision to live a healthy existance. No more gluten. No more dairy. No more red meat. Clearly he’s insane, but that’s completely beside the point. Or maybe it’s right on point, because only a crazy man would deny his wife something as life sustaining as chocolate.

I wasn’t asking for much. I wasn’t asking for bags of sugar and caffeine. I just wanted a bag of Oreos to go with the milk.

Ok, so maybe I wanted chocolate nutty bars too. Oh, and the chocolate muffins. Then there was the donuts. But honestly, I didn’t want anything…ok so I wanted the cookies too. But that was it. I mean, you can’t screw around with PMS. That shit is dangerous!

Yeah, he wasn’t buying it. Big fat no…and he was driving the cart.

So, fast forward a few aisles…past the cat food (for the cats he says I tricked him into getting…and so what if I did…it’s old news, get over it) past the bread and the milk and the cheese…oh and the frozen pizzas. Yep, fast forward right to the beer aisle…and watch for the brilliance of the PMS stricken woman.

Beer is not healthy.

Don’t argue with me…it’s not. It’s chock full of calories and grains and all sorts of not-good-for-you-ness. So when the newly focused on a health kick husband reaches into the beer case and pulls out a six pack of something unpronouncable and thoroughly beer-like, I didn’t hesitate. With swiftness worthy of someone hell bent on a mission, I sprung.

“If I can’t get chocolate…you can’t get beer.”

So yeah…I got a Hershey bar.

And the Oreos…chocolate milk…brownie mix…Cocoa Pebbles…and a bag of chocolate chips.

But more than that…I got to win the argument. And honestly, is there anything better than that?

Until the next time…I’ll be feeding my PMS!