Warning: contains gender-specific stereotypes
I am in a spectacularly bad mood.
It’s a combination of things. I am tired. I am extremely bored. I am reading a new book and would rather be at home on the sofa with it than here, surrounded by bleating, worthless idiots who are unswerving in their dedication to their collective cause of irritating me. I am hungry. I am sick of cold weather, and of endless housework, and driving to work, and grocery shopping, and getting out of bed in the morning, and the noise my alarm makes, and that I can’t be bothered to change the noise my alarm makes, and EVERYTHING ELSE at the moment.
Of course, any man reading this would be swift to attribute my venomous state of mind to hormones. Ooh, women. All the same, aren’t they? Sweetness and light and then before you know it they turn into snarling, vicious rottweilers and sulk for three days because you forgot to tell them how thin they’re looking at the moment. I mean, it’s not like they’re dying or anything. And do you know what, boys? You’re absolutely bang on the money. Us girls, we’re a slave to it. And for all your banging on about how unfair it is that women get to blame their menstrual cycles for anything from a crying jag to murder, I couldn’t care less. For three days a month I am unbearable, even to myself. I spend a day shouting, then two days crying because I’ve shouted at everyone. And what’s my reward? Ooh, lucky me! I get to bleed for four days! Add to this the other trials of being a woman – the constant depilation, having to smell nice all the time, childbirth, the menopause, never having enough shoes, unrequited celebrity crushes, not being able to get the lids off jars, squealing at spiders - and you should think yourselves lucky. All you have to worry about is whether you can get another day’s wear out of your underpants and where your team is in the league, and I’m supposed to feel sorry for you because you once got a hard-on in Geography and Mr Jenkinson called you up to the board to draw an oxbow lake and everyone saw it and laughed at you for three years?
I don’t think so.
It’s a combination of things. I am tired. I am extremely bored. I am reading a new book and would rather be at home on the sofa with it than here, surrounded by bleating, worthless idiots who are unswerving in their dedication to their collective cause of irritating me. I am hungry. I am sick of cold weather, and of endless housework, and driving to work, and grocery shopping, and getting out of bed in the morning, and the noise my alarm makes, and that I can’t be bothered to change the noise my alarm makes, and EVERYTHING ELSE at the moment.
Of course, any man reading this would be swift to attribute my venomous state of mind to hormones. Ooh, women. All the same, aren’t they? Sweetness and light and then before you know it they turn into snarling, vicious rottweilers and sulk for three days because you forgot to tell them how thin they’re looking at the moment. I mean, it’s not like they’re dying or anything. And do you know what, boys? You’re absolutely bang on the money. Us girls, we’re a slave to it. And for all your banging on about how unfair it is that women get to blame their menstrual cycles for anything from a crying jag to murder, I couldn’t care less. For three days a month I am unbearable, even to myself. I spend a day shouting, then two days crying because I’ve shouted at everyone. And what’s my reward? Ooh, lucky me! I get to bleed for four days! Add to this the other trials of being a woman – the constant depilation, having to smell nice all the time, childbirth, the menopause, never having enough shoes, unrequited celebrity crushes, not being able to get the lids off jars, squealing at spiders - and you should think yourselves lucky. All you have to worry about is whether you can get another day’s wear out of your underpants and where your team is in the league, and I’m supposed to feel sorry for you because you once got a hard-on in Geography and Mr Jenkinson called you up to the board to draw an oxbow lake and everyone saw it and laughed at you for three years?
I don’t think so.
posted by surly girl at 11:49 am
21 Comments:
*Treads carefully to avoid unnecessary disturbance of SG and pipes in rather small voice* we're not all like that. Some of us are sympathetic to your plight. My OH is similar and then also riven by head-splitting headaches for three days every other month. Clockwork is not in it. All the (useless) GP will do is offer her strong pain relief that makes her vomit. So he gives her something to stop her vomiting. It's not good and feels like a vicious circle.
I have recently got back into the period game (having been on depo-provera for years) and I am foul. Just foul. Someone told me yesterday to Evening Primrose Oil and it would all be better. Anyone tried this/got results from it? Yesterday I was bleeding like a pig with it's throat slit. Too much information?
Not being able to get the lids of jars?
Oh you useless flid. Everyone and their granny knows you only need to make a hole in the lid with a knife or something.
Saying that though, wimmin at 'that time of the month' brandishing knives isn't a very good combination.
Anyway (fave word), after all these years of suffering 'the curse', shouldn't you be used to it by now?
Any old excuse for a moan, eh?
I hear starflower oil helps though.
I imagine 16 cans of special brew does too.
That's a good point. Just count yourself lucky you're not Jo off The Apprentice - you'd get hysterical just glimpsing yourself in the mirror, there'd be tears before bedtime, in fact at every moment of the day. You get emotional three days a month? Pah! Jo is emotional 365 days a year. Or more.
Geography with Mr Wiseman in an all boys school? Nah.
French, that's a different matter.
we are expected to smell nice all the time?
does this mean i should remember to apply deodorant every day?
*sniffs 'pits and recoils in horror*
It's been happening every month since you were 14, surely you've learned to deal with it by now?
(Blue touch-paper lit, LC saunters away to a safe distance to watch the fireworks)
**lobs small hand grenade at LC**
ooooooooooooooookay
here's my theory:
as life pootles along, women get more and more narked with the ridiculous nonsense that is men-stroo-ay-shun BUT this is some smart-arse evolutionary construct to make us positively welcome and embrace the menopause...until we realise how shit that is too
hmmmm
**lobs another hand grenade at LC for good measure and JUST 'CAUSE ALRIGHT?**
yes. i loathe it. you forgot to mention bleeding for seven days, and feeling like your entire lower body and i do mean including your legs are in a vice.
A two-week holiday usually sorts it. With a Queen-size bed and huge, fluffy sheets that you don't have to wash.
Every month, of course.
Would you like a cup of tea? Can I run you a nice hot bubbly bath? No? Ok, that's fine, love. No, no, you do whatever you want. I'll do tea tonight shall I? And put the kids to bed?
*walks away with slightly mincing gait created by long practice of walking on eggshells for three days every fucking month*
I can't even begin to comment dear one. You said it so well.
*tosses one of fifi-sis' poopy nappies at LC*
See: CwhatC and I have the same egg-shell walk *see me walk*.
Would this be a good time to say that proper GPs who care an all can actually help? There are patches n'stuff.
YeGods, there are enough women Drs to have made this nightmare history.
Bitterness? No.
*Smiles knowingly*
As they say:
"How can you trust anything that bleeds for a week and doesn't die!"
*I'll get my coat
piggy and tazzy have it right.
alcohol. lots.
and don't disparage menopause. it's like being a rotton 8 year old again, but with better ideas and more money! once you get the medication adjusted, its FANTASTIC.
except for the chin whiskers.
I'm really looking forward to the menopause. Oh to be able to go on holiday without my frigging cycle adjusting itself so that I ALWAYS come on unusually late or early to coincide with my plane touching down at a destination.
Failing evening primrose oil, Omega 3 or vitamin B12, would heroin work?
Yes, Betty, I hear heroine works a treat. You'll lose all your teeth and have trouble staying alert, but it WILL work wonders.
I think you should try it for a month then report back your experiences (minus the explanation of the pretty colours and things).
As for Surly-face, she's being unusally quiet today. Do you think she's been locked up for murder or something?
I think we should be told.
*trots out, tossing an old (unused) towel and some deodorant in Surly's direction and muttering 'there, there, petal. it'll be all better soon'*
I distinctly recall, approximately three hours after my first period, asking my mother how old I had to be before I could get a hysterectomy.
I feel that uteruses (uteri?) should just be put in on request. It's not like I'm going to use it for anything, worthless organ.
You lot should try shaving every day then you'd know what a real curse is !!!
I'm pleased to say SG is over the worst of it now and back to her 'normal' self. We went out last night, drunk beer and laughed lots which is the usual format for us and it was fabulous.
I hate to tell you Surly but I feel like that ALL the time and I don't get periods AND I have enough shoes.
Mirena coil, Sherbert. Yes it's fabulous, apart from the times when it makes you bleed the WHOLE FUCKING TIME FOR MONTHS AT A STRETCH. In case anyone has wondered why I'm no longer dating, having a life or anything really.
The one thing I have found that makes an enormous difference to PMT is completely giving up caffeine. But then again some things are worse than being a knife wielding maniac every month.
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