For the last three days I've been wandering around with a sour look on my face. It's the same look one of my mom's crazy aunts usually had on her face whenever I saw her.
My mom had two crazy aunts. One, Melba, was kooky, endearing crazy. She introduced herself to Scott as the crazy aunt. If you ever watch the movie "Home for the Holidays", Geraldine Chaplin's character is my Auntie Melba, no exaggeration. When you dropped her off at home she'd go into her house for random things she thought you'd like and give it to you. And I always liked what she gave me! It was a gift she had.
Her other aunt is mean crazy. The look on her face has been described as if she has a turd under her nose.
I've had that look on my face the last few days as my ladies time is due any second now. While my medications keep me sane 27 days of the month, the other three are a little weird. Not crazy, just weird. I get weepy. I take things personally. I retain water. The water retention makes the numbers on the scale go up which makes me weepy.
I tend to be overly self critical during this week of my hormones being little shits. For example, I took the kids to the Girl Scout end-of-the-year party. It was held at the home of a fellow Girl Scout. The house is gorgeous, predictably gorgeous, but gorgeous nonetheless. (That's the other thing, I get a little judgmental. Yes, the house is nice, but I couldn't tell you anything that's particularly unique about it. It looks just like a whole bunch of other nice homes decorated in taupe, burgundy and gold.)
After we attend this gathering I was being really critical of my house, the way it looks and the generally ratty condition we live in.
Nothing I can do about the other family, but I can clean my house up, which I will be doing tonight and tomorrow.
Along with all of this I want to eat a whoooooooole bunch of salt. Yum yum yum yum yum. Like poutine gravy on salted fries salty. Like asking the person behind the counter to put salt on your $18 bucket of popcorn salty. Like Lipton Onion Soup Mix salty. Saaaaallllllty! Mmmm-mmm-mm!
This morning, The Hip Husband noticed that I was kind of off and asked me what was wrong. I explained that my cycle, my friend, my Aunt Flo, my curse was due. I was going to be menstruating, riding the cotton pony, on the rag, having my period any second now.
He said 'Oh, so, do I need to go set up a red tent and push food through a flap?' And that sounded great!
In Biblical times, when a woman was *insert euphemism of your choice here* she went into a red tent with other women whose bodies were doing the same thing for a few days. They kept themselves clean, sewed, ate, slept and talked. You were sent to the red tent! I'm sure there were some cat fights in those tents. Probably good ones!
But it would be nice to be absolved of all responsibilities for the days the female body is causing mischief. I'd take my laptop and movie theatre popcorn with me.
Amanda's beauty tip of the day: Keep your cycle calendared so that you can step up your blemish prevention the week before.