Are your hors moning? (No, I'm not talking about whores moaning, an entirely different matter.) I'm talking about those nifty little things inside our bodies that make us crazy, make us euphoric; make us sad; make us happy. In short, hormones.
In my PMSing years, my hors were moning something fierce. It got to be so bad that my husband, AKA The Wretch, blamed any world or personal catastrophe on my PMS. The Gulf War--Jane's PMS. The Democrats took a seat in Congress: Jane's PMS. Global warming: Jane's PMS.
Now, that I've reached the menopausal state, in other words, the state of the crone, The Wretch still blames me for whatever happens. The stock market took a dip: Jane's menopause. Business went down last quarter: Jane's menopause. Al Gore appeared in a Speedo: Jane's menopause.
Gem for the day. Hormones are like men: can't live with 'em' can't live without 'em.
I say....men, can't live with them, can't kill them.
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