People To Stab Today

(With a blunt pencil, relax. I don’t have a sharp pencil handy, and I’m too lazy to get up and get one.)

When I have PMS I get a little stabby. My SigO always compliments me on my insight and willingness to admit that hormones affect my mood, however he doesn’t seem to realize this is something that can only be admitted to a certain number of times in any given month, and men can never bring it up.

Case in point: I mentioned that I had PMS last night. This was fine and within the bounds of appropriate conversation.  Today I said that I felt stabby, and he asked, “why?”

WHY?? Did you not listen last night when I said I had PMS? Are you trying to get me to repeat this aloud again so you can feel smug in your Y-chromosome privilege? How about I wait until you are sleeping and poke you with a pencil and see if you remember then?

Lay low, household members, and throw chocolate. No, if you throw chocolate that might make me stabbier. Better to place it nicely in front of me and walk away quietly, but make sure you don’t say or do anything that might imply that you are giving me chocolate because you think I have PMS. Then I will take your chocolate and still chase you around with my pencil AKA stabby stick.  Stop making that clicky sound with your pen. Or your teeth.  Don’t even think about asking me if I have PMS. I will only admit to having PMS when I am not having PMS. While I actually have PMS I know I have PMS and I don’t want to talk about PMS and if you bring up anything relating to PMS you are in mortal danger.

Comedian Sabrina Matthews did a bit about how tampons and Ben & Jerrys should be sold in 2-pack sets. She said that she liked to walk through the store with her arms out straight in front of her, holding ice cream in one hand and tampons in the other as a warning to her fellow shoppers. She is a brilliant woman, and exceedingly kind to alert strangers to the risks.

I’m generally a nice person, it’s as if I save up my savage homicidal tendencies all month and they only spew out when I’m hormonal. (Said in an affected male impersonating a woman tone of voice.) Well, if men didn’t act like dicks every day women wouldn’t have to get stabby once a month. Oh, no, dial it back, Lara. PMS is not the fault of men. Probably. Or so they tell me.

I got stabbier and stabbier as I wrote this, which is the opposite of how writing is supposed to work. Writing is such a release. Ha. Whomever said that obviously doesn’t have PMS, probably never had PMS, and if identified, will be added to the People To Stab Today list.

Week One of Cycle:

I can smell the kitchen garbage can from my chair in the living room, but also the honeysuckle in the yard when I’m inside the garage.  Cheese is love. Let’s eat cheese on everything. Why don’t you pet my head more? My hair smells excellent. You should totally pet my head. I love you. I love the children. I love everyone. Your hair is excellent today. Let me pet your head and braid your hair. Would you like a back rub?

Week Two of Cycle:

Look at my amazing biceps! I love exercising. I feel so skinny!  My hair is moderately well behaved today. You can pet my head if you want to. Your hair looks nice. What is this pimple on my chin? Cheese is delightful. I wonder who invented cheese? I must thank them.  

Week Three of Cycle:

I can’t sleep because all I can think about is the dumb thing I did one time when I was twenty-three that could have ended very poorly if I hadn’t been so lucky, and also why is no one answering my emails?  I need to eat everything in the house. It is my prime directive. I ate cheese and now have to run across the food court to the bathroom before my bowels explode. Why don’t you pet my head? Not like that! Just don’t even touch me! Oh, your hair looks nice? Fine. Rub it in. I am a puffy hose-beast and I just said don’t touch my hair!  No, I’m not holding a pencil behind my back. You can come over here, really. Trust. There is no pencil. What? It wasn’t even that sharp.

Week Four of Cycle:

We will not talk about blood, unless I need to talk about blood, in which case you are expected to witness anything I require you to witness and give my sympathy without implying that you think I am gross. I don’t really want my head petted but I probably won’t stab you if you try to pet my head. Yes, your hair does look nice. Come over here and let me braid your hair a little bit.  Let’s have some cheese and crackers. It’ll probably be OK.


See? It’s really very simple. If you actually love me and are paying attention you will always know exactly what I want and when I want it. The fact that you just asked me if I have PMS is proof that you don’t love me enough to input my cycle into your iPhone calendar.








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