Survival Guide for Men

Dearest Men:

You have no idea what it is like to be a woman.  Oh, no, you clearly do not have any figment of an imagination to experience the vast geographical mental and emotional diversity of female-land. 

Let me explain to you what it is like to wake up suddenly and feel like this:

 

Yes, any woman will tell you precisely how she went to bed fine and woke up bloating out of her room, let alone her pants.  That muffin top she has been diligently working off at the gym has magically quadrupled in size.  Your wife suddenly, and strangely, looks five months pregnant.  No, it is NOT a beer belly and no, she does NOT have to take a dump. 

No one likes to talk about it but seriously, we women become mutant creatures that we cannot even control for that one week a month.  Be forewarned, keep your distance but do what we ask of you - your very life may depend upon it.  We are all over the place emotionally. 

How do I explain to you the reality of what we go through?  You men are fans of horror movies, right?  We women are not a fan of blood and gore, not just in the movies but in real life. 

Imagine this:

It IS gross.  This picture is precisely how we FEEL.  You know how you cannot focus on us when the football game is on and all you hear is, "Blah, blah, blah!" - well, when you are wondering why we might not be in the mood or we seem a tad bit unhappy; simply visualize the image above and give us an empathetic ten foot by ten foot buffer zone for about three to four days.

Howeverrrrrrrrrr (much emphasis added here), do not venture too far from that ten foot "Stay the F Away" zone - if it's 9 pm at night and I am wishing for some ice cream, the very best thing for you to say is, "Honey, I will go get you some ice cream!"  Know that I really do NOT want you to go for ice cream but I do want you to offer, so do it.  Pick up the keys and put your shoes on, but do not go.  I will tell you to not go but I will appreciate your offer.  I will also subsequently kill you fifteen times over in my head in a very violent manner.  I will curse your very stupid being and be angry at you, for not planning ahead (dumbass bastard, have you NOT figured out my cycle yet in all these years of marriage) and for not stopping on your way home to prepare for the Bloodacalyspe by buying me some Ben & Jerry's.  You will NEVER survive the zombie apocalypse if you have yet to document and predict my monthly uterus explosion.  Honestly, you should be thankful that you awaken each morning after I have asked you for salty French fries and sweet sugary ice cream and you have failed to deliver.  In my dreams, I have stabbed you in the eyes, I have peeled your skin off layer by layer, and I have punched you in the head with a variety of household objects.  Ahhhhh, estrogen and progesterone you wicked, wicked hormones.

Men, just remember that for your bad day at work, we women may have also had a bad day at work (professionally and/or at home) coupled with needy (or whiny) children, a hungry husband who has disappeared for fourteen hours to "cut the friggin' grass", while trying to scrub the toilet bowl (oh, why bother - the boys of the house will try to pee the poop stains off and I can just wait until next week when the blood is also gone), while trying to keep up with the laundry, while cleaning up cat puke, while paying the bills, while not burning dinner, while planning car pools for activities, while bathing the youngest, while getting books for and subsequently demanding that summer reading get done, while trying to exercise ourselves without giving our gym-mates real life nightmares of the movie "Carrie".................

Just get us the damn ice cream (and while you are out, stop at CVS for an extra box of Always Infinity Diaper Sized pads).  Congratulations.  You have survived another month.

Sincerely yours,

Women of All Womenkind