PMS is horrible. I don't get it very often, certainly not every month (thank god), but on occasion it hits me like a ton of bricks and it's pretty tough to live with. For everybody. I know lots of jokes are made of it, but when you are in the middle of a significant bout of it, it's not very funny because you know what? When you're in the middle of a bout of PMS nothing is fucking funny. To say I feel a bit touchy is understating. It's more than cranky or touchy, it's mental, psychotic-feeling, impotent rage.
PMS used to be put forth as a reason not to elect women to leadership positions because every month they would "go nuts." I think that not only do we not go nuts when we feel like this, but we do a pretty darn good job of compensating for the true feelings of utter, mindless rage. Like at the grocery store when the man ahead of me who was buying one loaf of bread challenged the clerk on the price which made her call back for a price check. Did I feel like ramming my cart into his ankles and screaming, "JUST PAAAAAAAYYYYYY HEEEEERRRRRRR!!!!" in a demon voice? Yes. Did I do it? Of course not, that would be crazy. When I was emptying my cart on the belt and got uncomfortably hot, did I rip my clothes off, jump on the belt and scream, "WHY IS IT SO FUCKING HOT IN HERE!!!!!!" and scratch out the eyes of the nearest person? No. I calmly removed my jacket and continued emptying my cart even though I felt like I was on fire. Did I smile and make some mindless banter with the clerk like I usually do? No. I couldn't manage it because I was too busy trying not to spontaneously combust.
Usually I'm a nice, easygoing, good humored person, and if every six months or so I feel mentally horrible, would it be so hard to give me a little sympathy and understanding? Because although I know I'm not the easiest to be around at that time:
if someone says something even a tiny bit snarky or nasty, it just makes things so much worse:
It would be like if you ran over your foot with the lawn mower and made a mess of your big toe, and not only was I not sympathetic to your ailment, but every day I stepped on your foot and made it a little worse. Who is the bad guy in that situation? The person who didn't want to run over his toe, but did because that was what that bitch, Mother Nature, made him do; or the person who steps on the sore toe every day to make a point that your sore toe is no excuse for limping. (What? That doesn't even make sense, you say? Tell me about it!) I'd say that the person who steps on the sore toe is the jerk, and is risking his life because the person with the sore toe is feeling awful and is developing a craving for hearing you make that choking sound you make when she pokes you in the throat.