I don't know how I have managed to get a PhD, be respected at work by my colleagues and students, make money, and have a relatively comfortable life. I have even managed to make a few bucks in the stock market during these times. Heck, I win most of the times I play chess. I always thought I was semi-smart. But it just dawned on me that I am just getting by. I have been faking it all along,.
When it comes to this issue, this destructive force of nature, this thing we call PMS — which may be responsible for the extinction of the dinosaurs — I am just another dumb jerk.
I just don't get it. I mean I try. I read about it, I even talked to a doctor, a psychologist, a psychiatrist , a neurologist. Guess what? These people are just as stupid as I am. They don't have a clue why I have to find a hiding place before the bloodshed starts. I just want to live. Is that too much to ask?
Ever since I have known Fereshteh, I have known PMS.
A few days before the cruel joke God plays on women every month, I have to find a refuge, much like Osama. The bombs rain in, and God forbid, if I try to avoid them there will be bigger bombs coming my way. They have a way of finding me. Darn PMS technology.
If I say: “Honey, you are just having a bad day,” then it is a sure thing; I will be having a worse day. If I try to walk away, I am accused of “not communicating” . If I get angry, I will be rammed to the ground like the poor World Trade Center.
If I say “I love you”, I will be accused of “just saying it without meaning it” and hung from my most sensitive area. Keeping quiet and just looking into her eyes, will of course indicate an indication that I am a passive jerk who does not understand women.
So last night after a year-and-a-half of this confusion, I prayed. I am going to pray every night until I get my wish. I mean, women want an equal world, right? Okay then, hey, I want to be equal. I want some freakin' PMS. I want it, I need it, and I crave it. Lord, give me PMS.
I want to know how it feels. I want to know how it works. I want to experience the joy of looking at my mate and knowing I can kill if I keep looking. I want to be able to be completely irrational and then blame it on hormonal imbalance that I am not responsible for. I want to see fear in her face.
I want to feel the power that I can, shall, and do any absurd thing I want and blame it on her or this hormonal thingie. And after a week I want to still be able to love her and pretend nothing has happened, and if it has, it was all HER fault.
Lord, give me PMS. Give it to me soon. I will give the PhD, the house, the job, the stocks, all of it if you let me have it for just one week. Just one week, that's all I am asking for. And I am going to ask every night until you make my wish come true. Or I will ask HER to ask on my behalf. You have a choice: me or her? Make the right choice, God. Your kingdom depends on it.