Surviving the Storm

We are currently under the astrological sign of the Crab, which is quite fitting since there's a big grumpy one living at our house. It's like the "perfect storm": a deprived dieter meets PMS week. Since Monday I have been in moods varying from verge of tears one minute to fuming the next. One of the cats peed over the side of the litterbox; they're out to get me! The only good thing in the mailbox all week has been a 20% off Kohl's coupon. Nobody loves me!! I watched a chubby kid eat two samples of free cake in the grocery store bakery, but I can't have any!! Life is so unfair!! It's Wednesday and the sky is blue. Waaahhh!
Fred, after all these years, still thinks that there has to be something specific that I'm upset about. I mean men don't blubber for no apparent reason, right? And if there's a specific problem, it follows that there is a solution for it. He questions me repeatedly, "Are you sure there's not something bothering you?" I can't convince him that it's a stew of hormones, emotions, and chocolate cravings that would best be dealt with by Fed Exing me to Abu Dhabi.
However, his concern doesn't prevent him from beating me at two more games of gin. Or asking me to come outside and help him with something at the moment of a huge revelation on "The Bachelorette." Or dragging me out at six this morning to help plant oak trees!! Then when we're done, he winks and suggests we go back to bed. Has this guy ever heard of Lorena Bobbitt??!
I try to put myself in his shoes and wonder how I would deal with it if he acted nutso once a month. I wouldn't probe for the source of the problem; I'd just take action. I'd rub his feet and let him hold the remote; I'd take him out for dinner every night for the whole week. I wouldn't care if he drank 3 margaritas with the appetizer, and I'd tell him, "One little piece of turtle cheesecake won't ruin your diet!" I'd give him the credit cards and tell him to go shopping. I'm sure that's what I'd do! I'd even give him my 20% off Kohl's coupon!
I may be onto something here. I could write a book for men on how to survive PMS and menopause. For the title, I'd borrow from the mug I recently bought as a retirement gift: "Why do men die before their wives? Because they want to."