I woke up a couple days ago with a headache that would. not. leave. I figured it was just because I’d dehydrated myself partying a little too hard or something – what with the hockey games and concerts and work and rowing and bad weather and not going outside and yadda yadda yadda.
I figured that was still the case when a giant volcanic zit appeared on my forehead (I rarely breakout).
Then today I woke up in a funk. Capital UNK. Life stinks. I am alone. Nobody wants me. I have no boyfriend (true) no lover (a lie) no friends (a definite falsity). I am puffy and undesirable. AND WHAT IS UP WITH MY BOOBS THESE DAYS… GAHD!
It was then I looked at the calendar. And it all made sense.
Goddamn PMS. We (me, the mood, the boobs) are not amused.
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Thanks,
Jill
my boobies and girl bits weep in (not-so-silent) commiseration.
As do mine also.
Could be worse?
Just be glad you don’t live in the country with a dog…
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