"Bloody" women

Its that time again. The time when w2b turns from the most incredible woman I know to a shadow of her former self.

25 days of the month she's the best company you can imagine. She's funny, she's laid-back, she laughs at the slightest opportunity. For those other few days she's a whirling dervish of aggression. Add into the mix the temporary accommodation we're living in and you have a volatile mix.

The weird thing is that we spend so much time together that I'm starting to get sympathy PMS. I've been grumpy all day, shuffling around the house like a teenager. I've had a headache. I've been alternating between sulking and snapping. I got into a strop because the electrics kept tripping when I was trying to boil the kettle. I sulked when, after w2b bought a camp stove to boil water on I couldn't find the camping kettle. I hrumphed when I realised we couldn't get the football on our crumby freeview tv setup.

It wouldn't be so bad if w2b's PMS made her a fragile, tearful wreck. But she seems to revel in the lunacy that it allows her to give reign to. So while I'm shuffling and mumbling around she's swearing at pedestrians that dare to step into our path and turning to me with a maniacal gleam in her eye and a devilish grin on her face. As I wait for her in the car park she gleefully describes how she tore apart the spotty shop assistants in the computer shop. Its one of the many, many occasions where you wonder which one's the man and which one's the woman in this relationship.

Its also one of the many reasons why I love her so much.