The nature of life in reality . . .
Wild mood swings
If there is an evil to being female, estrogen is the root of it. I have been suffering from the worst case of PMS known to womankind! Itís been horrible (just ask James)! One minute Iím bursting to tears, the next minute Iím writhing in pain or snapping over the most frivolous comment. Saturday night, James tried to feed me chocolate (heís such a good man). He pulled the hazelnut crŤme filled milk chocolate heart from my box of birthday Godiva. ďThis is for you,Ē he said, ďbecause you already have mine.Ē Before I could take it from him, the tears swelled up and I started snorting mucous. How terribly romantic.
Not a lot happened this weekend. I slept a lot. I got my nails done. I did some shopping. James and I went to the grocery with the neighbors on Sunday. As we were driving down Union Ave., I glance up at the sign at Kimbrough Liquors. Itís generally pretty boring fare, announcing the new Georges DeBoeuf or whatnot. This was different. Emblazoned on white fiberglass in big chunky black sign letters was, ďMenage a Trois.Ē I guess they call George ďthe beefĒ for some reason, huh?
Iíve decided that I will no longer drink the water at work. Yet another co-worker has announced her pregnancy. I think Iíll stick to sodas.
The time is drawing near . . . I leave for the great Duran Duran road trip of 1999 on Thursday. James isnít real pleased about it. Iíll miss him, but this is something I just have to do. How many chances does a grown woman get to chase a teenage fantasy? Besides, I need a diversion before the wedding kicks in full speed. I just hit me the other day that our invitations have to go out in less than a month Ė and I still have to have them printed! Not to mention that the guest list isnít quite finalized, Iím still not sure about the musicians, the menu hasnít been chosen, and the fabric for the bridesmaid dresses is en route from Iowa.
Iím beginning to wonder if I should have ignored my urges and just eloped.
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