Holy hell.
I have always had pretty bad mood swings with PMS, and J has too, but this new level of hormones in me combined with J’s usual PMS hormones has made for a whole new cocktail of crazy. More doors have slammed in the past couple of days, and more arguments have broken out over ridiculous things than I can recall in, well, ever.
We have come up with a code word that means I’m being hormonal and we both need to shut up for a moment. It’s “blue cheese crumbles.” If J is finding a particular disagreement rather irrational and potentially hormone-driven, she is allowed to end it by saying “blue cheese crumbles.” If she is reacting to one of my crazy emotions, I announce that my emotions are hormone-driven by saying “blue cheese crumbles.” So far, it works pretty well, and the bickering stops pretty immediately, although I do get irritated when she says it sometimes.
The other morning, I was grabbing a snack before we left the house, and while fishing around in the refrigerator, I knocked over a small carton of cheese. It fell all over the kitchen floor, and I had a bit of a melt-down. I yelled and yelled. When J came to try to help me clean it up, I yelled at her. I was just livid and crazy about it.
And then, moments later, while driving away from our home and through the rolling hills of wine country, the irony of it all struck me. That carton of cheese was not just any cheese: it was a carton of blue cheese crumbles.
