There are days when everything is just wrong; the food, the people, the company, the music, your body. Everything.
Days when you feel like the walls of the house are pressing in against you and you feel trapped and claustrophobic.
Days when even the idle chatter of family members just grate on your nerves and all you want is for them to shut the hell up so that you can at least have some peace and quiet.
Days when inconsequential things feel like the biggest problem in the world and it infuriates you that no one else seems to find it a problem. Why should it bother you now, they say. You’ve lived with it for so long, so what’s the problem?
Days when your emotions are so close to the surface that just a little provocation can either send you into a rage or a crying jag.
These days are the days when a woman is at her most violent and emotional. The period when she feels blue and craves chocolates like there’s no tomorrow. These days are known by three letters that strike fear into the hearts of men:
P. M. S.
It causes a normally sweet, young lady to turn into this ravaging monster that will bite off your head with no provocation at all. Only the hourly offerings of chocolate can placate this monster enough so that life can go on as per normal for the next 59 minutes. As it is, the hour’s chocolate offerings are late. The monster shall now stomp off to bite of a few heads on the way to the fridge to get her stash of chocolate. May god save those who lay hands on it before she does.