Dear Mother Nature,
You’re going to visit again soon, I can feel it. Moreover, my husband and kids are starting to feel it. Seems the wind has changed direction and grown gusty. And, unlike the wind that carries Mary Poppins, this wind is coming from the west. In fact, Admiral Boom has raised the storm signals, indicating heavy weather brewing.
Emotional about Joe ‘graduating’ from Suzann’s house and Charlie’s 4th birthday, this week is already a heap of haphazard hormones. And now, because you are coming for a visit, bloating, crabbiness and cravings of crap have started to encroach. Mother Nature, you are the perfect storm.
The Publix tagline, “Where shopping is a pleasure” is grating on my nerves more than ever this week. And, I saw a commercial for pads where the pad is compared to athletic wear. ATHLETIC WEAR! To quote the commercial, “Only Stayfree Ultra-Thins have Thermo Control Designed with the comfort of athletic fabrics in mind. Stayfree Thermo Control quickly wicks moisture away, for exceptional dryness.”
Mother Nature, did you notice I provided a hyper-link to Stayfree’s product line in the previous paragraph? That link will allow you to see the stupid ad for yourself.
Ah yes, the week before the week you knock on my door, a time when friends are made and relationships improve. NOT!
And Mother Nature, don’t go trying to tell me about those women who no longer have you knocking on their door. I am in no mood to hear about how it could be worse or how other womanly hormonal experiences may be more annoying. You just hold off on that discussion for two weeks or so. Don’t look at me funny, either. I may just burst into tears.
P.S. I should mention, one benefit to your visit, Mother Nature, is the fact that frustration hits quickly and can lead to instant results. I just loaded up two boxes of stuff to take to Goodwill, because I was tired of looking at all of it. I haven’t a clue what I threw in the boxes, out of frustration; hopefully, I won’t go looking for any of it in the next two weeks. Hmm . . . where’s my laptop? Uh-oh.