First a little background on the matter….
This dates back to the first couple in history that ever cohabited. Adam was an entitled, arrogant, boy who thought the world revolved him and had no understanding of the word NO.
And Eve was a kind, sweet, patient, and strikingly gorgeous young woman, who could have done better but there weren’t a whole lot of options around so she dealt.
One day, Adam had the wise idea to take an apple from the big
Forbidden Tree, because if he wasn’t allowed to touch something he only wanted it more (and he was hungry all the time).
Eve, rational as always, disagreed with him but decided to pick her battles and just let this one go.
Thunder, lighting, and God comes out of nowhere. He asks who did it and Adam, who’s about to wet his leaf, points to Eve. God, sticking to the bro-code, sides with Adam and poor, sweet Eve takes the fall.
So while we ladies have been forever cursed because of Adam’s dumb idea, we’ve been forced to suffer alone… until now. The day a guy moves in with his girlfriend is the day punishment is rightly shifted.
Granted when we move in together we no longer have a place to hide out, feel miserable and wear a shirt big enough to fit three people…. BUT what’s a whole lot scarier, is that they no longer have a place to hide from us ……. and our 5-7 days of violent mood swings, temper tantrums, rage black outs and tears that make no sense to us either.
Since it’s never EVER a good idea to ask a girl if she’s nearing her ‘punctuation mark’, because no matter how sweet your tone it’s not going to end well, educate yourselves. Learn the warning signs to watch for…
Example; I start to wear a lot of black in an effort to look slim and counteract the fact that I turn into the blueberry girl from Willy Wonka. It’s about as effective as an elephant sucking in but it makes me feel better. Others will have a noticeably heighten sense of smell that can detect chocolate miles away or sudden need for salt that has them putting it on everything they eat down to a lolly pop.
It shouldn’t take long to figure out the patterns but until you do you’re just walking blindfolded through a field of land mines.
Like many women out there, I suffer from a made-up medical condition called Menstrual-Schizophrenia. Thankfully we can’t die from this condition, however, our insensitive boyfriends can.
Here’s the story of one man who made a fatal mistake:
It’s Girl Scout cookie season 2011. My boyfriend sees a stand as we’re leaving the Best Buy parking lot and he asks to borrow $5 so he can get a box. I hand over the money and say “just no Thin Mints, I hate those.” He says “but they’re my favorite.” I go to the car and he meets me there a few minutes later with what in his hand? Thin Mints. Now we have an issue.
Because, in my hormonally-fogged mind, he didn’t get those cookies because ‘they’re his favorite,’ he got those cookies to say “I don’t want you to have any cookies you fat cow!” and he just used my $5 to say it.
First comes yelling (about the cookies). Then more yelling (but not about the cookies).
Then crying (about the cookies again).
Then really hard crying (about the cookies but this time they’re a metaphor for something else – his job is to figure out what).
His silence implies he did not figure out the metaphor so the crying develops into an blaring loud ambulance-siren of a wail, which in the confines of a car can be deafening.
Then I decide I’d rather walk home because I “CLEARLY NEED THE EXERCISE!”
But then I change my mind and get back in the car because it’s a really long walk.
Then I realize why I’m crying and I think it’s kind of funny.
Now I’m laughing really hard and I look over to make sure he’s laughing too but instead his eyes are just really, really big and his mouth is stuffed with a now soggy cookie that has remained un-chewed for the last 10 minutes out of fear.
Then I remember how much I hate that Thin Mint in his mouth and the laughing stops.
We sit in silence for a long time.
A few more minutes pass before he carefully whispers, “…. they were out of Tagalongs.”