I got my period today. Three days after I got back from Vegas. So at least that was good. It would have really cramped my style if I had gotten it there. No naked Jacuzzi, massages or reckless romps on the sateen Egyptian cotton sheets. But I knew yesterday, call it woman’s intuition, that this was going to be one of the more unwelcome visits from my Aunt Flo. I guess it was payback for holding off until I got home from Sin City. Life is all one big give and take. (I gave, he took. Then we switched.)

I went to work this morning, all crampy and uncomfortable. But work was good and I got caught up on the bookkeeping I had missed while I was on my two week extravaganza. And that made me happy.

But then the day took a turn for the worse. I came home and decided to take the kids to the community pool. They had been home alone while I was at work and needed some fresh air and activity. But they snipped at each other from the moment we got there. And all I wanted to do was read, not referee. The swim ended when my son accidentally kicked his sister in the nice fleshy part of face below her right eye. It immediately turned black and blue and got swollen. Everybody out of the pool.

We walked home. I was beside myself. Though he didn’t mean to kick her in the eye, he did mean to kick her. I could have gotten involved before things turned tragic. But I was tired, crampy and cranky and just wanted to read my paper. He got sent to his room for the rest of the afternoon. No electronics, no television. But he was allowed to join us for dinner. A dinner that I didn’t have to cook because my mostly wonderful husband (nobody has immunity from my bad menstrual mood) not only came home early from work, but also went to the grocery store on his way home. I did have to do the dishes. It’s how we work. And I usually think it’s a fair deal. But like I mentioned, I have my special friend. And the first day is always the worse.

Now the kids are in bed. My daughter’s eye was iced and she is properly ibuprofened. And her eye is not going to be as bad as I thought it was going to be. But I have clothes in the dryer ready to be folded. And clothes in the washing machine that need to be moved to the dryer. I need to put soap in the dishwasher and turn it on. I need to take a shower. All very simple tasks, things I do every day. Yet for some reason, they seem so insurmountable this evening. All I want is chocolate and ice cream and for someone to massage my feet.

But I’m going to cut my losses and go to bed. Say fuck it to the chores but yes to the shower. Seems to be the civil thing to do for my husband. Dinner was really good. And I realize that tomorrow’s another day. And a good night’s sleep will do a lot for my body and my mind. I think I’m still on west coast time.

When I was younger, I used to get pissed when someone would say to me, “oh, you’re in a bad mood. You must be on the rag”. Now it makes me happy. It’s an excuse to say whatever I want. And I’ll be the first to admit the effect that getting my period has on my demeanor. It’s the one time a month that I get to be a royal bitch and eat chocolate. And boy does that feel good.