This blog entry is dedicated to women everywhere–with special thanks to those who have given birth. Now, I usually try to stay within reasonable limits on my posts, but today it just is what it is. I’m talking about the P words. Pre-menopause, pre-menstrual this and that, post-natal, post-menstrual, and the list goes on. I have some real derogatory terms I could associate with each of those heifers, but I’m gonna keep it clean for the young women coming behind me.
Mercy! Today started off okay, then when it was time to get dressed, I realized my top drawer didn’t line up properly anymore. Yeah, I got serious OCD. You probably have one, that you try to keep secret. I don’t mind going first and telling my story because that’s why I write anyway; somebody can relate, and needs to know she’s not alone. Anyway, I spent too many minutes trying to figure that one out, and I realized I was obsessing–first clue. Then I made myself walk away and get dressed; that’s when I realized my pants were too tight–not fastening at all on this here day kinda tight. What? I switched to another pair. They looked kinda lumpy, because my stomach wanted to stick out farther than my boobs today–that aint easy. What? I had to reach for the under armor to smooth that thing out–second clue. This nagging pain in my back made that more uncomfortable, but then it hit me–she’s coming, soon. Well, I don’t exactly have to track these things lately cause I don’t have reason to be concerned…. Yeah, that too. Mercy.
Anyway, long story short, three pairs of pants, several shirts, and two pairs of shapewear later I’m dressed. Still not happy with the result, but my face is beat and my hair is flowy and glowy, so I’ll deal. I chose power pumps because obviously when you’re not feeling your best, you should do something to help it along, but if these suckers cause me the slightest discomfort, patent leather loafers on stand-by. Mercy. So I got the idea to blog this on my way in to work, after I fought Kyle about what he was gonna wear, and we argued about him being two cause I said he was getting ready to be three, and he insisted TWO! Whatever man; you’re one of them right now. He’s got on every color of the rainbow I believe, but I don’t even care. I’m so beyond that at this point.
So I’m sitting here thinking about the guys who live with women, or deal with women, or say things about women and our moods, attitudes, emotions, and stuff. I figured I’d give you all a heads up on how things can be sometimes, and there is always an explanation. I know you know we go through, but you have no idea how many systems are involved in this thing. From brain to toe nails, this thing goes deep–c’mon man! It affects hair, complexion, digestion, sexual health, nerves, everything. Imagine trying to keep yourself presentable only to find out one day that you are lumpy, swollen, and feel like crap. What would that do for you and your wife beaters, or your cover model look in boxer briefs, or your basketball shoes? You know those things usually cover a part of your ankle. If you had cankles, it wouldn’t be so easy to play ball, playa. What if your feet were swollen and you couldn’t get into your cleats or your football pants? Mm hmm.
Don’t get me started on how it would be if you had cramps, or if you bled for seven days, and some bamma kept asking you for some personal attention. Man, I just carried and either pushed or had some 8-pound thing cut from my core, and dude is looking at me like “Babe, for real you gotta lose this weight,” or “Babe, how long you expect me to wait? It’s been two weeks!” And I can multiply all my P symptoms times five to get what I’ve been feeling every month too? You have no idea. Ease up, and go somewhere. You’re lucky all we do is cry or flip out sometimes for “no reason.” Bammas.
So yeah, I’m about as pleasant as a pregnant black bear on the run right now. And this episode is a mild one. But I was telling my aunt this morning women should be allowed seven excused days per month–for the stuff leading up to the big event, and the stuff that comes with it. When it’s over, life is great. And you know how it’s two weeks after one cycle til the PMS usually kicks in? Well, it’s two weeks after it STARTED, and depending on how long the real deal lasts when it comes, we may only get a couple of days of peace and loveliness before that B–I mean, the cycle resets. Then here she comes again, messing up plans and clothes and stuff. But God help us when she doesn’t come…. Don’t even get me started on the sweats and flashes again, messing up my hair and makeup. *&%$@#^(!
I’m trying to plan a photo shoot, some women are trying to plan weddings, dates, trips, and all kinds of things–and we have to plan with that in mind always. You think I should be nicer, less cranky, more even-tempered more often? Trade places with me; I dare you. Otherwise, ease up off me man.
From the mind of:
Tonya D. Floyd,
Woman, you are incredible!
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