I have PMS. And not the cute, snarky, feed-me-chocolate kind that I wrote about in the early days of this blog. No, what I have is the red-hot-anger alternating with deep depression version, which leads me to snap at people and burst into tears as soon as I walk in my door.
Jeff was quite patient and loving with me yesterday as I blubbered and felt sorry for myself and stared catatonically ahead as I complained about everything from my money woes to the fact that I gained 3.5 pounds since I threw out my scale. As a dramatic, solitary tear ran down my cheek and I wiped snot from my nose with the sleeve of my bathrobe, my husband silently typed a URL into Youtube and showed me this:
Of course I cry-laughed through the whole thing, and afterwards I turned to him and sputtered "Do you ever wish you had a wife who wasn't such a snotty mess?"
"No," he said, pulling me close. "I love you, you weepy bitch."