Hi, my name is Crankzilla, and I will be your hostess today. It would be to your advantage to observe the following guidelines, for your own safety.
1. Do not look at me
2. Do not touch me
3. Do not talk to me, but if you have to, make sure I am not in another room, with the water running, with a toddler babbling at me, while you are in a room with the TV on. Because that means no one can hear anything anyone is saying, and the "conversation" will degenerate into a series of "WHAAAAT" being yelled in increasingly hostile tones.
4. Don't cause any noxious odor to waft in my direction
I have entered the zone. The PMS with a dash of perimenopausal zone. OOOO LA LA it is a colorful place to be. If you don't mind being really angry about everything, being annoyed by every.little.thing and when you have to pee, you have to PEE.
If you even THINK the words "are you pregnant" you will be ionized to the point that even cadaver sniffing dogs won't be able to identify your remains. No, this is just regular PMS, on steroids. Or on testosterone, if I understand the mechanics of menopause correctly. Decreasing levels of estrogen, increasing levels of testosterone and hello, have I introduced you to the forest that is growing out of my chin?
I know, I know, how can Bob even stand such hotness. He stands it by going to Maine to visit his mother in the rehab facility. And for those who are new to this conversation, it is not a drug or alcohol rehab facility, but one for those who just had surgery to repair a broken leg and who cannot walk or get out of bed on their own yet.
Work yesterday was a festival for me. They delivered a new copier/printer for our building. That machine lives just outside of my office, and one of the delivery guys used the bathroom, which is on the other side of a small space that is outside of my office where my work study students sit. The bathroom became a toxic wasteland after he used it. The noise they were making putting the machine together, combined with the smell he created in the bathroom nearly caused a homicidal rage in my head. I left the building. I took my boss' dog, who was hanging out with me while her mother was in a meeting, and went home for lunch. Caper the dog LOVES the Bob, and the schnauzers, so it was a treat for her and I could use my own bathroom that was not a toxic waste dump. But it was bereft of toilet paper, which almost sent me back to the homicidal zone. I chose to go upstairs and use that one instead of shooting flesh scorching lasers out of my eyeballs.
This happened to me last month too, and I am thinking I might need to invest in some Valerian or rose hip extract or more wine...which reminds me - in what is probably the smartest act of self preservation Bob has demonstrated yet, I came home to find he had been to Trader Joe's and restocked the supply of 3 Buck Chuck Cabernet. And then left the state. Hopefully by his return Crankzilla will have gone back to her cave for another 28 days, give or take.