Turning Green

Ms. Sizzle or David Banner? Same difference really.
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I have come to the realization that when I have PMS I turn into the Incredible Hulk. It's not the easiest thing to confess. You might think less of me. You might become frightened. But in an effort to be completely honest, I'm telling you- once a month, I turn into the Incredible Hulk.

Here's an example:

I was in one of those moods. You know the kind- where you are hungry but nothing sounds appealing, where you know you need to eat but don't feel like putting in the effort to make food nor do you feel compelled to put on a bra and run to a local eatery for some quick grub. So you stare at the contents of your fridge until you cave. PMS only exaccerbates this situation. All sanity, clear-thinking, and patience disappear in the wake of raging hormones.

I decided that pasta with mushrooms and pesto would be easy enough and better than a bowl of cereal. So I go about boiling the pasta, chopping the mushrooms, etc. As I sit down with my meal in front of the television, I pause with the plate of pasta balanced on my knee while I flip through cable channels. And as I go to set the remote down, the plate full of my steaming dinner, slips from my grip and falls face down onto the just washed rug. Unable to be salvaged. My dinner. Gone. Without even so much as a bite taken. The kittens scramble over to investigate and as I brush them back and pick up the pieces of the broken plate and gooey pasta mess, I curse like a sailor. In an angry pout, I furiously scrub the dishes and slam cabinet doors. A spoon slips from my soapy fingers and clammers in the sink. I pick it up, channeling all my anger at it, and bend it with Hulk force, breaking it in two. At least my rage is productive. Things get clean. . .hmmm, well. . .as well as broken.

Don't you think I should get this or this to wear when I am PMSing?