PMS

Straight from the bitch’s mouth:

Am I not lovable? [wail wail wail], I even tried to look nice, and he didn’t so much as look at me! There must be something wrong with me. I must be an ugly, fat, whining cry baby. Well look at me! [wail wail wail] I am a..[gasp]…[sob] ugly, fat, cry baby who is worthless to everyone…no wait! Fuck that! That bastard must be blind if he can’t see how lovable I…

Get out of way fuckbreath driver!
Learn. To. Use. The. Fudging. Clutch.….it’s called an INDICATOR. Fucking Joburg drivers.
If he doesn’t appreciate me, fine, I don’t care. I’ll probably end up alone…forever…anyway. [waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa! I’m such a failure!]
If my co-worker taps his fucking pencil against the desk one more time...I mean, am I not good enough? God, would my period just come already? I’m more bloated than the Michelin Man after 5 000 Cornish Pasties…I’M FAT.
Why hasn’t my friend/lovah/mother phoned me lately? What, am I invisible?

[waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!] OK Mr Taxi Driver, you wanna play hardball? [presses ferociously on hooter and holds it there for five Mississippi seconds] I should’ve known you were going to cut in front of me Mr Hi-Ace-Minibus-Stuck-Together-With-Duct-Tape Person, you always do, why am I so surprised? FUCK.
Nobody loves me. Maybe my parents, but that’s it. And they have to love me, they’re forced to. Oh My God. They’re forced to love me. That’s not love, that’s duty! [waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!] So actually nobody loves me, except maybe Lucas the security guard, but even then he has a strange way of showing it.
Justin my first boyfriend who told me he loved me when I was seven. But that’s only because I grew my hair long from the bowl haircut my mother insisted on giving me since I was a toddler. She wanted me to look like an idiot! Why would she put a Tupperware over my head and cut around it otherwise?

OK, DJ Fresh, enough talking already. All I hear is blah blah blah – this is meant to be a music radio station for chrissakes. You just go on and on and on and on and on…Oh great. Just great. I have a giant zit right in between my eyes. Three Eyes. Like a mutant alien from the battleship fucking Gataca.…Ooooh leftover Prawn Foo Yong...

…[munch munch munch]….


PMS from the man’s point of view:

She seems tense, moody. Oh Jesus. Why is she crying again? So I neglected to ask her what she wanted from this [overpriced] menu first. Or maybe I didn’t pull out her chair. Big. Deal. So I told her the truth about my ex girlfriend being sensationally hot – what does she want me to do, lie? She’s sulking, so I left her alone, isn’t that what she wanted?
Talk about over-sensitive. I’m going to saw something in half with my new angle grinder. The beast comes with a 600cc rechargeable battery, so next time I go hiking with the boys I can take it along and saw off the edge of a rock…or maybe a tree…it also comes with three reloadable discs of variegating texture…total score…Ooh look her high heel…I could saw the heel off. Then she’ll really have something to cry about. It’s tempting… strychnine in my coffee…maybe I’ll go and kick a football around…yeah…

PS: Basically, everything that is only a slight irritation when not pre-menstrual turns into a gargantuan fuck-off disaster area when a woman is about to come on.
PPS: Just know that I love myself the other 21 days of the month, regardless of whether others do or not.

PPPS: I am so busted. Crusoe, my mate and new business partner - oh yes - posted a picture of my latest parking.
Pants.