Japanese Flag Week Cometh

What a bloody week.  It’s been spent in a PMT-induced state of suppressed fury, with all the inherent side-effects and add-on symptoms; perhaps we can call these ‘plug-ins’ (ho ho ho).  This week I’ve had one of those particularly pronounced episodes that leaves you feeling like a total lunatic. So, as we all have different ‘plug-ins’ that come with PMT, I’ve decided for therapeutic reasons and for the benefit of anyone lucky enough not to be unfamiliar with the experience (men), to list a few of mine. Enjoy.

BOLSHINESS:  My friends and family may question whether this isn’t a permanent state but while I’m always prone to moments of bolshiness, at these times it’s more like a constant buzz beneath the temples.  Similar to those folk who experience the ‘hum‘.  A bit like Dante’s varying circles of Hell, bolshiness is the first level you reach before encountering the Snarling Bitch (see below), and tends to manifest itself in a fairly calculated and lucid nastiness.  Take the thirty-something twat riding a bike on the pavement who had the cheek to growl at my son after nearly knocking him off his scooter.  Had that encounter occurred in the past week, he wouldn’t have got a lame, mumsy telling off; he’d have got a biro through his spokes.  Let’s see you flip me the bird from a crumpled heap on the pavement, you ignorant toe rag*.

SNARLING BITCH:  She steps in when you breach the veneer of bolshiness through what I deem to be exceptional ineptitude or rudeness.  If you hesitate a fraction too long before answering what I perceive to be an urgent question, or ask me to find something that’s lying in plain view on the mantelpiece, or fail to wave your thanks from the dizzying heights of your Chelsea Tractor driver’s seat when I let you pass despite it being my right of way; all of the above will provoke the Snarling Bitch and you can bet the fury unleashed will be far in away out of proportion to the misdemeanour in question.  Poor Husband No.1 got broad-sided by her today when he didn’t respond effectively to a mild kitchen emergency (of my making).  Having put a pile of side plates on the electric cooker and turned on the wrong ring so they cooked to burny degrees celcius, I then confidently picked them up to suffer second degree burns as the bottom plate seared into my skin then exploded in shards all over the kitchen.  Standing with my red mitt sizzling beneath the kitchen tap and my free arm waving dictatorially at H no.1, I barked cleaning-up orders at him like a wounded Sergeant Major.  He battled bravely with the painful inertia of a blinding hangover but was overcome by the desperation of the situation, till he was left staring miserably at shards of red hot stoneware strewn around his feet, a melted Tesco bag clutched in his hand.  This was enough to let loose the Snarling Bitch, who evicted him from the kitchen with a “Pah!” and some other language no husband should hear from their wife, two labours or not.

HASTE:  As in the above scenario, there will be an expectation that tasks will be undertaken quickly. In my case everything, including speech, is performed in haste.  Not with speed, which could suggest efficiency.

HOUSEHOLD INCIDENTS:  E.g. the plates and the burns.  I also have shins that suggest I’ve spent the week shutting my legs repeatedly in the car door and no idea as to the cause of these florid bruises.  The range of ‘incidents’ is pretty varied too, going all the way down from near-Accident and Emergency experiences to finding four litres of milk on the bathroom shelf this morning.

DRINK:  Screw ice cream. What’s that going to do except make me even more bloated than I feel already?  What I need, as soon as PMT sets in, is a vat of red wine I can swim laps in.  The demon Drink sat on my shoulder this past week, dribbling bilious temptation into my ears each evening till I wound up sucking frantically on the neck of a wine bottle.  Knackered Mother is kind enough to provide eloquent recommendations for a good tipple but I’m afraid this past week the deciding factor has been bottle proximity. Come to think of it, perhaps the ensuing inebriation is linked to all the mysterious lower leg bruising…

So, chaps.  If you’re new to the whole PMT trip and your partner is displaying the above symptoms concurrently, you can perhaps breathe a sigh of relief in the knowledge that it will all soon pass. Alternatively, she may actually be a murderous sociopath with a drink problem, in which case I humbly suggest you get the fuck out of Dodge…


* In a happy epilogue, I saw the same cycling arsehole walking along the pavement towards me this week, sporting a bandaged wrist.  I do like to think he fell off his bike.


2 Responses to Japanese Flag Week Cometh

  1. MrShev says:

    Blimey, you sound like my missus – she tears everyone a new one when she hits period time.

    I personally think it’s a conspiracy by women to give themselves one time a month when they can let rip, chuck stuff, break ugly china, insult people and generally act like a Stella’d up nut-nuts. Think it does everyone a bit of good to let off steam. Then, you can blame it on something beyond your control. It’s like Catholicism – but without the guilt.

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