And there are those who wonder why women go insane roughly every 24 to 30 days a month.
If we didn't have this biologically programmed vent every month, we'd explode. It keeps us sane, while it drives everyone else insane.
Chocolate is our mainstay. We happily consume it by the pound one week, then lament it the next when we retain every body of water within a three hundred mile radius.
Women have known for years what scientists seem to have only discovered lately. Chocolate makes women happy. So does ice cream. Make that a chocolate ice cream and nearly half the women in the world will be putty in your hands.
And if you believe that, you must be one of the men who think there is a method to our madness. There isn't. Bug off.
Would you like a back massage?
It gets that way, doesn't it ladies? We didn't ask to be simultaneously affectionate hostile, ecstatic and tearful at the turn of a calendar page. Who in their right mind would?
That's like asking for bipolar disorder. I ought to know. I've got the disorder myself. Think PMS to the 100th degree and that's me on a good day without my medication. Kind of makes you want to invest in some top home security and stop toying with the idea of building that bomb shelter, doesn't it?
Don't worry. I like you. Today. At this moment.
What are you staring at?!
They say that when women are together in a group for a long space of time, they synchronize their periods. No kidding. This may be the key behind the philosophy that women should stay out of politics; stay out of a man's world.
Can you imagine how countries would be run if women the world over were in charge AND in sync?
Every twenty-four to thirty days people would run for their bomb shelters as war breaks out around the globe...followed shortly by many tearful peace treaties and hugs. A relative calm would settle over the duly humbled masses as their public servants happily worked together affirming one another, edifying each other's policies and cheering each other on.
But then, a change. It would start slowly with the turning of mirrors to the wall so that no figures could be reflected in them. Accusations would start to fly, loyalties would be questioned and every vending machine would be devoid of chocolate, signaling -- you guessed it -- a mass movement toward bomb shelters everywhere.
I know. Not nice. Women have made it so far. How can I make fun of us?
Lighten up. It makes the ride a lot smoother than it would otherwise be. That which doesn't kill us makes us stronger.
You just know it was a woman nursing a baby while vacuuming, making grocery lists, chaperoning toddlers, negotiating with their teenagers and ordering meat for the freezer all while standing over a hot stove cooking dinner that coined that phrase.
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