By Robert A. Vella
I’m jealous, really jealous. You see, there are a lot of ladies in my life these days. No, it’s not what you’re thinking my dear perverted readers. All around me are females, older ones, middle age ones, young ones, and even non-human ones. They are my adorable friends and neighbors, my loving family and companions. They are all very interesting and all very unique. But, they all have one thing in common… the dreaded period.
Yes, I’m talking about Premenstrual Syndrome (PMS), that regular or irregular monthly period when all hormonal hell breaks loose in a woman’s body. I’m also talking about perimenopause and menopause, that transition to permanent infertility which turn our sweet motherly sisters into the Tasmanian Devil.
I’m not joking, this is all too real! They suffer from abdominal cramping, bloating, headaches, backaches, depression, insomnia, breast tenderness, cravings, and anxious feelings. They must endure mood swings, irritability, and fatigue. They get hot flashes, dryness and bleeding in their private area (trying to keep this clean, folks!). If that isn’t enough discomfort, they also tend to gain weight (oh, crap!).
It’s no wonder that women so afflicted might snap at being asked an innocent question like: “How are you today, Sweetie?”
“I FEEL FINE! WHAT’S IT TO YOU, JERK? AND, DON’T CALL ME ‘SWEETIE!!!’“
When American newspaperman Horace Greeley wrote this famous line in 1865, “Go west young man,” he really wasn’t talking about the nation’s migratory expansion and the concept of Manifest Destiny; no, he was really warning a friend of his about the arrival of the man’s wife (hey, it could be true, couldn’t it?).
The ladies in my life often remind me of their unpleasant physical and emotional burden. They wear it like a badge of honor. I’m not sure if they are simply trying to communicate with me or to educate me, or if they are sending me a red flag warning which reads: “DANGER AHEAD, TREAD LIGHTLY.”
So, I’m jealous. I want an excusable reason for my bad temper and foul moods. I want a period too. But, I’m a man. I don’t menstruate, and I won’t go through menopause. What should I do? Find the male equivalents, that’s what. I’m going to call my regular or irregular monthly cycle a comma, and I’ll call my transition to permanent infertility heropause (medical studies to follow).
But, maybe I’m not jealous after all. Maybe my comma and heropause were triggered by a sympathetic stress response to these ladies’ period and menopause. Now I’m getting depressed.
I can feel it coming on! Good grief, my nipples are sooooo sensitive!