Love, Hate, Love, Hate, Love
There are women all over the place who are in a state of pms, some having it worse than others. Those who have it worse, boy aren't they a treat. You probably have one in your office, sitting at their desk and not bothering to glance up when you say good morning, instead they say it back in what seems a painful manner, under their breath. Perhaps you've even sat next to one on a train and she rolled her eyes when you were fidgeting and asked to be excused, way to early before your stop. She just didn't know how you like to be the first one out the door and beat everyone to the main concourse.
Perchance you were a tourist fresh off a plane; happy, smiling and excited to take pictures in front of all the tall buildings and one walked by, not even getting out of the way. You couldn't believe she didn't see the selfie stick, you thought you waved it high enough, so everyone could tell you were about to use it. That one woman though, just didn't seem to care, in fact you could have swore you saw her laugh. For all one knows you came face to face with one when you were trying to get on a bus and all of the sudden you heard, "Excuse you." You couldn't believe the nerve and continued ignorning the line.
You can usually tell a pms'er if you look close enough. You can see it on their face with the raised eyebrow, a slim squint in the eyes and when you hear one speak, the voice is lower, sounding more like a grumble. Perhaps you've come across one in your own home, playing with your children. They're easy to spot there, as they're usually armed with a glass of wine, as your child runs in circles around them. They can't be mean to the children, so they turn white from the "excitement;" you even think you can even see grey hair forming right before your eyes.
But wait, what was that? Had the children made it smile? You seemed almost certain you saw one . . . but you wait until the glass is empty to confirm.
(OR IS IT?)