After all this time as a female of the species, I seem to have only just discovered that when I have pmt I turn violent. Yes. Violent. I know what you’re thinking. Yes. I do. What can a little 5 foot pip-squeak of a thing actually achieve in the violent stakes?
Aye. There’s the rub.
Not a lot. But that’s the point you see. You don’t see, do you?
Ok. So CJ, my husband, is 6’3″ and over 100kg. Now you see. And it’s fun: Turning myself into an estrogen-fired human cannonball and launching myself at him when he least expects it. Throwing punches at shoulders that are wider than I am tall. Doing commando rolls over the bed… and across his face. Flinging myself through the air – like a tiny flying squirrel – and landing flat on top of him as he, unsuspecting, is watching TV. FUN.
It sounds cruel. But it isn’t. No really.
Okay, maybe a bit. But maybe in the grand scheme of things – you know, the Divine Plan – maybe that’s why I had to marry a giant. (Okay, he’s not a giant to normal people, but he’s most certainly a giant to me.)
FUN. Being a human cannonball is a hoot. Trust me. And, jeez, it’s only once a month. Quit whining.