You want to see my head spin around and pea soup shoot out of my mouth? Ask me why I did something one way and not another way.
Or make a "funny" comment about my weight when I stepped on the cracked floorboard and it broke. Which is a totally valid, "Your Honor, he needed killin'!" defense.
Or constantly interrupt me when I'm trying to say something and refuse to let me get to the point and then laugh when I explode in frustration.
And then say, "Why are you flipping out?"
Why? I'LL EFFING TELL YOU WHY YOU %&*$@! LITTLE PECKERHEAD!!!!!
It's called "menopause," son, and your mother is suffering from it which means EVERYBODY in this here household suffers.
Be afraid. Be very afraid.
Oh my God, this weekend was a barrel of laughs around here, let me tell you.
I have the patience of, well, not a Saint and my emotional state is about as stable as, well, pick any country in the Middle East and there ya have it.
Oh, I'm a joy to be around.
And then there's my hair.
My hair has gone circus-freak crazy. Seriously. It's got the texture and appearance of rusty steel wool and seems to have doubled in volume.
If I use a flat iron, it looks like flattened steel wool. If I blow dry it, it's BIG steel wool. If I use a curling iron, it's curled steel wool. I can't catch a break with my hair.
I supposed things could be worse; I could be having hot flashes but so far, I've been lucky to avoid them.
And I probably just jinxed myself.
Fuck.
FUCKITY FUCK FUCK!!!
Oh. There I go again.
