| February 22, 2000
The Calm After The Storm
During the drive to work this morning, I reminded David that we had an important errand to take care of this evening.
"Don't forget," I said, "we have to go back to Mervyn's and exchange that bra."
He nodded pleasantly. "Sounds good," he said ... head bobbing, fingers tapping the steering wheel. He was infinitely more *engaged* in Lenny Kravitz, at that particular moment, than he was in Lingerie Chat with his girlfriend.
But then he stopped cold.
"Wait a second," he said, voice filled with dread. "Bra shopping? Now? Today?"
What he meant, of course, was "Bra shopping? Now? Today? While you're premenstrual and bloated and lethal, and if I turn around and take my eyes off you for so much as a millisecond, you'll start whacking the saleslady with an umbrella?"
"Nahhhh," I reassured him. "It's fine. It's perfectly 'safe.' The Seventy-Two Hours of Doom are over."
For this month, anyway.
And it's true. Now that I am technically no longer "PRE-menstrual" -- ifyoucatchmydrift -- the worst of it is over. The dams have burst. The floodgates have opened. (To use a couple of really awful -- but accurate -- analogies.) And I am more or less back to *normal* emotionally. It is those two or three days immediately before my period that I should come equipped with a warning label. Once the period itself finally starts, peace reigns once again in The Castle.
"OK," he said doubtfully. "If you're sure."
"I promise not to turn it into an ordeal," I said. (Bra-shopping, historically, has not been a big bunch of fun. Basically, I am a triple-retrofitted-underwire, living in a Wonder Bra world. But that's another story for another day.) "We'll run in, get credit for the bra that doesn't fit, pick out another one real quick, and then we're out the door and home and eating leftover lasagna in bed."
What could be easier?
He still looked skeptical, but he agreed. "If you're sure you're up to it, then it's fine with me." After the emotional hurricane we've endured this past weekend, it's no wonder he's hesitant. If I were him, *I* probably wouldn't want to go anyplace dangerous with me, either. Like the DMV. Or Lenscrafters. Or the grocery store.
Or bra-shopping, forcryingoutloud.
But you know what? I really truly think it's going to be OK.
So tonight after work David and I are off to the lingerie department at Mervyn's, in order to exchange one incredibly uncomfortable, ridiculously-overpriced undergarment for a slightly LARGER, incredibly uncomfortable, ridiculously-overpriced undergarment.
Tons of fun for everyone!
In the meantime ... now that the floodgates have opened/the dams have burst/the hurricane has blown over/blah blah blah ... let's get this month's apologies out of the way, shall we?
Whoops. Looks like there's a teeny tiny bit of residual *emotional hurricane* blowing through my bloodstream this afternoon, after all.
I'd better keep taking the St. John's Wort.
blurb #1 will go HERE: ok, everybody. here is what i want you to do.
go to your calendar and flip it over to the month of march.
take the biggest, boldest felt-tip marker you can find -- red would be appropriate -- and circle the 17th, 18th and 19th.
then next month ... when that weekend approaches ...
... run like hell.
here's where i'll ask
a *relevant* question:
amazingly profound thought of the day: "I honestly think you ought to calm down; take a stress pill and think things over." ~ HAL, "2001: A Space Odyssey" ~