The most pathetic of all "wig outs" - part 3

For some outlandish reason, nature has dealt many of us females that ugly PMS card. I don't know why. Is it not hard enough to endure the monthly cycle of feminine supplies, ick, and cramps?

In the past my "monthly cycle" has stood it's ground and refused to be "monthly". It use to hide for months at a time and you know what? I still loathed her visit, even though it may have only been 5 or 6 times a year.

I do know one thing... during the months that my "monthly cycle" was m.i.a., PMS still reared it's ugly head. Oh how I loathe thee! (fist shaking up to the heavens)

PMS (whom I will label, "the evil one") has been the culprit to many irrational behaviors in the past. I'm pretty sure that when Brittney Spears shaved her noggin and stampeded a paparazzi with an umbrella, "the evil one" was partly to blame.

And that is who I have decided put the blame on, for the last bout of my wig-out sessions. It's the right thing to do.

Things that attributed to the most pathetic of all wig-out sessions:

1. "The evil one"
2. lack of sleep from the previous night, when Conner decided to refuse sleep and instead made my Halloween pinata bald at 2:45 a.m.
3. over worked (most of it my own fault. 'cause I suffer from the rare disease Itakeonwaytoomuchcan'tsaynooverdoithormonalbeast-itis.)

I made a visit to "melt down city" last Sunday. Well, not this last Sunday, the Sunday before that. Although tired from the previous night, I managed to make it through the entire length of church without one head bob or resting my head on my neighbor's shoulder and falling asleep. I knew that once I was home and lunch had been prepared, salvation was mine! I knew that my weekly, highly anticipated, Sunday nap was in the works. I had made it that far with out wiggin' out. Just a little while longer, and I would be home free!

My family knows it is best to just stay outta my way when "the evil one" is present. "Do what I say, and no one gets hurt!"

Not so much.

My inner hormonal beast was bubblin'.

As I was browning the roast in a hot pan, I was apparently using a most highly, dangerous kitchen utensil to rotate that roast in the pan.

I give you - the deadly kitchen tongs!

dun, dun, dunnnnn!!!

Oh they look innocent! The silicone ends and not really having any sharp edges and all...

But they aren't!

Who would've thunk it?

While waiting patiently for the roast to brown, I was holding the deadly kitchen tongs in the "closed" position. I wasn't opening and shutting them! I wasn't poking anything with them! I wasn't pinching my husband's rear-end with them! I was just standing there - innocently.

And all of the sudden... flip! Yup, that's right! The stupid, deadly kitchen tongs all of the sudden flipped open. But the problem was my pinky finger ended up being stuck in the spring loaded thingy majig. The stupid, deadly kitchen tongs were still in the "closed" position, because my finger was preventing them to open. I let out a scream of pain, "Owwwwwww!" I tried to pull my finger loose but the deadly tongs had a tight grip on it. I knew that the only way to free my innocent finger was to squeeze the stupid deadly tongs in hopes that they would open all of the way. But this was causing pain equivalent to child birth. (okay, maybe not)

Thus being followed by the most pathetic of all "wig-outs".

me: Owwwwwwww!!!! Stupid tongs!!!! I hate cooking!!! I can't get my finger out!!!

the hubs: What happened? Let me see!

me: Nooooo!!! (so mature)

some more screaming and a few choice words (by me)

the hubs: (frustrated) Well, let me see if I can get your finger out!

me: some more screaming and some more words - choice words

This was the straw that broke the camels back. I finally yanked the deadly, kitchen tongs from my en-slaved pinky and did what every hormonal beast, over tired, over worked wife/mother would do... I threw those deadly, kitchen tongs across the kitchen. With force. I'm pretty sure my fit of rage produced a dent in my wood floor.

After flinging the device across my kitchen, I then screamed with all of my might to my husband, "You finish cooking!!!!"

Then I stomped away to my bedroom, collapsed on my bed, teared up, then fell asleep. (sigh)

Not one of the most shining moments of my life, I have to admit. But without fail, punishment for my lousy behavior over that weekend was sure to come. And it landed smack dab on my face. My punishment came in the form of a zit, people. A larger than large, zit. There was no hiding it. It was bigger than the planet Jupiter. In fact, I believe a colony was beginning to take place on my face.

I'm proud to say that everything has settled down here. And my family no longer has to hide in fear from my inner hormonal beast.