An Open Letter To PMS
Oh hey girl,
And so we meet again. What have you been up to?! Oh wait. LET ME GUESS. You’ve been super busy practicing your voodoo spells/curses on my hormones again? Or perhaps you’ve been contaminating my mind with endless crazy-lady irrational thoughts/feelings? No wait, I’ve got it — you’re about to manipulate my hunger and then watch as I down an entire box of Wheat Thins/jar of Nutella like it’s nothin’. Ugh you are just, THE rudest.
You are constantly sabotaging my life and you know what?! I’m tired of blindly accepting all of your conniving habits! I’ve had it up to HERE with them! And don’t think for a second that I haven’t memorized every single trick you’ve thrown my way, every 28 days since like 2002. I’m onto you girlfriend!
Also, just FYI, your material is totally stale. Like, getting me to sob at a Philadelphia Cream cheese commercial filled with happy families eating breakfast together? Boring. Convincing me to buy the new Lady Antebellum Christmas CD because I totally deserve it and need an endorphin boost like ASAP? Predictable. Encouraging me to watch A Walk To Remember while eating a family sized portion of popcorn and texting that one guy I haven’t talked to in months because life is too short and OMG Shane West loved Mandy Moore even though she was dying and I want to be in love so much? You WOULD.
I’m no longer the naïve 13-year-old who is going to just passively put up with you. She has been replaced with the way more mature-ish, employed version of me who is finally ready to have a serious talk about all of this.
You do realize that you interfere with like 25% of my life right? Now let me get this straight — one fourth of my life is in your hands just because I happen to have fallopian tubes? That’s pretty insane, don’t you think? Carrying babies, blowing up like a blimp, and having to waddle around like a penguin isn’t enough for you? I think bloated feet and oh, I don’t know, keeping another human alive INSIDE of me should be enough to cover the cost of being a lady! I don’t get why I must suffer each and every month in addition to the whole pregnancy, breast feeding, motherhood thing that is most likely included in my ten year plan. I mean, I get that having babies is tied to having a period or whatever. And honestly, I’m totally fine with surfing the crimson wave for 5-7 days each month, but why must each period week be accompanied by a week of pregaming?! WHY GOD WHY.
I get major anxiety at the thought of your monthly return. And I’m pretty sure my friends and family are scared of you and your repercussions too. We’re living in fear of you and all the illogical behavior you cause! For example, can we talk about yesterday for a minute? Remember that whole scene you caused in Barnes and Noble?! I started crying in the children’s section when I stumbled across Goodnight Moon and then I group texted my parents: “I miss you guys. I miss childhood and my youth. Can you priority ship me my baby blanket? ;( ” Sound familiar? Harry Conick Jr. was playing as ambient bookstore noise and I think that’s when my rational mind really jumped ship. “It Had To Be You” came on, and then my crying quickly turned to sobbing. People started to stare, that zit-faced employee asked me if I was doing “okay,” I created a mild scene, etc, etc. I had to excuse myself and go cry in the bathroom for like 5-7 minutes. That was ALL YOU and we both know it.
I get that sharing all of this with you is mostly likely going to accomplish absolutely nothing. And that’s quite understandable, especially since you’re not an actual person or any kind of organism that could possibly hear/understand what I’m even saying right now. You’re more of a phenomenon, a force, an “energy” and this oversharing/venting rant was more for me than it was for you.
But, PMS, if you do happen to read this and hear my pleas, can you just do me a little favor? Can you take it a little easier on me next month? I like my friends and my mental health and I wouldn’t want to see them lost over another PMS-induced hilaria. If you can do this for me, I promise I won’t talk so much smack. I swear on a box of Tampax Pearls. The fancy, colorful ones!
Love & estrogen always,
PS Thanks for the big boobs! I know they’re just temporary, but they’re the only thing getting me through this week.
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