Poor Mr T he doesn’t know what to expect when he comes home; Mata Hari, Coco the Clown or the psychotic lover from Fatal Attraction with a carving knife in hand and rabbit stew on the table. Fortunately he’s a good natured soul, although I am slightly worried about that windowless room he's been constructing behind that false wall. I hope it’s just going to be a walk in wardrobe but to be honest even with my large selection of clothes ( small butt, medium butt and big butt size) I don’t need one. Hmmm... I'd better check he’s not been making amendments to the life insurance policy.
Now can a man really appreciate what it must be like for us gals on this emotional rollercoaster? I don’t know but I suppose maybe if they were having a really, really bad day…
Say for example you were some big hot shot city slicker and you’ve got an important meeting….
Perhaps the day starts bad because after a night of over indulgence on mussels, champagne and strawberries you nick yourself shaving. Blast! You have to stick on one of those delightful blobs of toilet roll to halt the bleeding; just when you wanted to look really suave.
Then you get to your office and find that your watch has stopped and everyone is already there waiting impatiently. Miss Tightfanny your aged spinster secretary is looking over her tortoiseshell glasses at your feet; you have two odd socks on. Oh no! Maybe no one will notice?
You remind yourself to ring that cold heart woman in Human Resources and tell her to fire Miss Tightfanny. How is it that you always get old relics and that young upstart Mr Hamster in the adjoining office gets the blonde bombshell? And what’s more how does he get away with wearing red pants over his trousers, a cape and a mask to work... Perhaps because the CEO has a fetish for little furry creatures which although remarkably unhealthy has resulted in him cornering the market in bling wear for the fashion conscious small mammal.
Taking your place at the head of the table, you commence the meeting; everyone is looking at you. So that’s nothing unusual; you’re the boss but there’s a few sneaky grins. You look down; there’s toothpaste on your $40 tie. No!! This CANNOT be happening.
“I want to buy chocolate!” you say, banging your cartridge pen down on the table. The nib cracks and spurts ink over your $100 shirt. Holy mackerel! What else can go wrong?
In your anxiety, you grab your rubber therapy ball and start to squeeze it; it pops out of your hand and plops down the front of Miss Tightfanny’s blouse as she is pouring you some more of that sludge coffee that is making your head spin. Without thinking, you stick your hand down her blouse to retrieve it, she screams and drops the coffee down your pants.
Everyone is laughing at you. Oh Lord you're as red as a big red thingy. What about your reputation? Still, think positively now.. so longs as you make big bucks on the chocolate deal today everything will be all right; its the profit that counts.
“BUY CHOCOLATE!” You yell and the team scramble to the door and shoot off to the share dealing floor.
You make your way to the Gentlemen’s rest room to get cleaned up. You sponge your tie and pants down and grimace in the mirror. OH NO!! Not only have you left that blob of loo roll on your chin but there’s a piece of lettuce stuck between your teeth from that BLT sandwich you consumed on the way to the office. It CANNOT get ANY worse.
Your bladder is bursting with all that disgusting coffee, just time for the necessaries before the markets close. But…but… the zip won’t budge on your pants. Damn it! You have no choice but to take your pants down altogether. Suddenly you hear a swish behind you, a quick sideways glance in the mirror and you see the CEO... just as you’ve got your pants bunched round your ankles. The absolute horror causes you to trip over your pants and head butt the latrine. The CEO looks distinctly perturbed and hoisting his hamster, with a diamond encrusted collar, under his arm he leaves in a hurry.
You make your way upstairs disconsolate. Still…there’s always the chocolate deal….
Miss Tightfanny is waiting for you in your office;
“I’m sorry Mr Intrepid we’ve lost on the chocolate shares. An anonymous buyer outbid you.”
NO! NO! NO!
It is the worst day of your life!
As you’re cursing, the telephone rings…..
“Hello Mr Intrepid.” It’s the seductive, sexy voice of a sophisticated English woman. Your heart is beating with anticipation. Who can this mysterious woman be? A sweat breaks out on your forehead, your heart palpitates; maybe the day is going to work out better than planned....
“It’s Miss Jayne here. I’m afraid Mr Intrepid……. the chocolate is ALL MINE.”
No, you've been outwitted by a delectable English woman; it can't be true; weren't they meant to be dull on the other side of the pond? You realise you been throughly whipped and...
.... hold your head in despair and sob uncontrollably.....*************************
Yep, I think that’s what it how a guy would feel with PMS. What do you think ladies?
PS As you can see I've been fiddling around with all the applications the last few days and I've finally worked out how do that link thingy. Hey, it wasn't that hard after all; I just couldn't locate the right page to tell me how. Anyway, I hope to give all of you folks whose blogs I have enjoyed reading over the last few months a proper mention in the coming week. In the meantime, keep well, keep happy and keep recycling!
Copyright Jane Turley 2008