Ok, well not really an "inside" look, but more an inner perspective type of look as to what goes through a woman's mind during this week before a woman's hormones and thought processes begin their return to "normal."
My first clue, aside from the calendar, that I was experiencing PMS was Tinker. This is one in-tune kitty cat. Plus, he's male, so I am quite convinced that they have some sort of inner radar to this change in a woman. Normally, as he is right now, he would be sniffing my hair, rubbing my head, laying on my arm, and generally making himself a pain in the rear end. Saturday, however, he was conspicuously absent. This cat did not come off the porch but to eat and use the poopy box. Then he went right back outside. There was none of the normal three or four meows as he is running at me to then proceed to walk all over me and drool somewhere in my near vicinity. Nothing. Nada. Zip. Zero. Tinker KNEW. Tinker is a smart cat.
Then came Monday. I was sitting at work and every teeny tiny little thing annoyed me. In my mind I conducted harsh tirades at any perceived act of incompetence. Even the real instances of incompetence were blown way out of proportion in my mind. Luckily, I still manage some semblance of control and I stayed to myself with my mouth shut. Had that safety valve failed to function properly, I would probably be begging for unemployment and an Obamaphone.
Then I made the mistake of making a trip to WalMart. Unfortunately, the trip was unavoidable and most months when I start experiencing the evil tirades in my head, I do my utmost to avoid the one thing that has the most power to challenge the PMS safety valve. Since I am writing and publishing this story, you at least can rest assured that I once again demonstrated superb self-control. But, I thought it would be kind of funny (at least it is funny now) to share just what was going through my head as I shopped in the most dangerous of places to a woman experiencing a bad case of PMS.
I pull into the parking lot and damn if some jackass didn't ignore the large, white pointed arrows that are specifically painted at great monetary cost, with the purpose of directing traffic and avoiding parking lot accidents. At about the same time, another jackass thought he could beat me (I know, the idiocy!) to the coveted parking spot by speeding down the parallel lane and cutting through the parking lot. I do have to give that driver credit for at the very least paying attention to those big white arrows. After giving the driver who got their license out of a Cracker Jack box the most evil look, well, let's just say I got my parking spot. I'm pretty sure my irises were turning a shade of red, but I was still able to see normally.
The planets being in alignment provided me with a courteous driver as I was crossing the parking lot before entering the store. They actually stopped and waved me through. Maybe it was the red eyes, but we will never know for sure.
Then the real fun begins as soon as I procure myself a wobbly wheeled cart.
My first bitch is with the people who built and organized this particular WalMart. Why in the HELL would you make the aisles one and half cart widths and THEN periodically place the shelves to where the support beams cut the aisle size to one cart width??? I am not even sure if the oft made fun of scooters can make it through those aisles or if they have to navigate a u-turn mid aisle to get back out. Hell, it is federal regulation where I work that the roads have to be 2.5 times the width of the largest piece of equipment that will travel the road. Why does WalMart not take this safety factor into consideration?? Not to mention the pallets of crap they place in the main aisles to entice you to buy extremely large quantities of soda, cheese balls and snack packs of cookies. It's flipping madness.
My second bitch is the people that come with their entire families: mom, dad, aunt, grandma, three screaming toddlers and the lone older child who looks like he wants to go hide in the displays of tires. The little ones, if they are not relegated to prison within the confines of the cart, half hidden by rolls of toilet paper, juice boxes and bunches of bananas, are running around touching everything, screaming that they want "this" (name any colorful object and you will be correct) and then sobbing when they are told no, or worse, getting louder, and LOUDER, AND LOUDER because their parents have become experts at selective hearing.
All I wanted, all I needed was some freaking coffee creamer, ink for my printer, and tampons. Before this trip was over, a bottle of wine was added to the cart.
My third bitch is that people will see you behind them while in these miniature sized aisles or in the refrigerated section, give you the acknowledgement look, and then go back to what they are doing; thinking internally, "I am going to cheat death today. I am going to see how far I can push the bitch with the red eyes. I am going to take my sweet time, change my mind 4 times, all to see if this bitch explodes." All I needed was creamer. I knew exactly what I needed, where it was; it would take me 2.3 seconds to get it and move on. But nooooooooooo, the jackasses that take their entire family to WalMart have to have a discussion and do in depth internal negotiations before making a decision on what creamer, what size creamer, what brand, etc they are going to decide to purchase. It's like getting stuck behind a lottery crack head at the gas station. They did cheat death, but only because children were present.
There are times I envision myself clearing those offensive and obnoxious displays, screaming at the top of my lungs. Usually it is after getting stuck behind the fam-damily as they walk as slowly as possibly and taking up the entire aisle. Even if a passing opportunity becomes available, they will spread out just to ensure they make it to the 10 items or less lane with their full flipping cart before I do. I have 4 items. I qualify to enter this lane. They have 60. They do not qualify, but they do not care. They have no regard for rules, values, human decency or puppies. They just suck.
It then takes these morons 15 times longer than necessary to pay. Because not only do they have more than the qualifying number of items, now they are going to pay partially with a check and the remainder with their EBT card. How I am not incarcerated, I really don't know. But the fam-damily is not done just yet. They eventually move on, I make my purchase in under 3 minutes, including the entering of my pin code, and I think I am on my merry way. Nope. Nu-uh. Fam-damily has it in for me. They have walked as slowly as possible to the exit and again, leave me no passing opportunity. Their toddlers are still touching things that will surely give them some disease that even the most experienced ER doctor has yet to see in their petri dish. They are still in their spandex camouflage and wearing their hair in the most gawd awful 80's mullet. And they are still in my flipping way. As we near the exit, NOW they have to stop and rent a movie. It is only by the grace of God that an opening appeared to go out the entrance, in direct defiance of my need to exit through the exit. I no longer cared. I took it.
The world is in chaos. No one cares if the sign says entrance or exit, if they are paying attention to large, reflective white arrows, if they notice a stop sign, if they notice a DO NOT ENTER sign, or if they look in the mirror and call TLC's What Not To Wear on their own - begging for an intervention.
On any normal day, these life experiences would just produce a small sigh. But when a woman is PMS'ng, it become nuclear. Osama and Hussein have nothing on us. If you men want to win a war, just find a bunch of PMS'ng women and make them think they are in WalMart. It will all be over and ready for you to rebuild in less than a week.
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