Today’s post is one for the laaadies. Do you ever have those days where you wake up and you feel like complete and utter shite? Nothing fits; all of a sudden you’re sporting a pouch big enough to fit Skippy the Bush Kangaroo, where only yesterday, you swore, your stomach was. I swear!
You turn on the TV and the mere sound of Kochie’s cackle makes you wanna slit your wrists (more than usual). Not to mention, aforementioned pouch is now rumbling so loud, that you could murder a block of chocolate and it’s only 7.30am.
Usually another sign for me, is that without fail, SilverFox and I will have a massive, explosive, expletive-laden argument once a month. (Well, I yell, he cowers in a corner somewhere.)
And like most arguments, it starts over something stupid, usually ends in tears, someone sleeping in the spare bedroom and sheepish looks over cawfee the next morning over how ridiculous I can be. FYI: pretty goddamn ridic.
FYI: pretty goddamn ridic.
I always get such a rude surprise when I get my period – as though it hasn’t been happening for the last 10 years. It’s like being punked every month where an annoying relative comes to stay with you on the first day of your planned vacay to the Bahamas. Only this time, there’s no sign of Ashton Kutcher. Hashtag: Period fail.
Recently, I downloaded a nifty little app called P Tracker that tracks your period, mood, skin condition, and weight. What I love ’bout it? It gives you context. (DING! Lightbulb moment.)
So when you’re getting ‘your bitch on’ and you have no idea why – now you do. And, if all of a sudden your skinny jeans don’t fit, it might just have something to do with that packet of Mint Slice biscuits you hoovered last night. Not that I would know anything about that…MC