Tankini Abuse

Last week I combined all the experiences Mother Nature has to offer.  Camping while PMSing.  Is there anything more magical?

Actually, yes.

Let us first focus on the positive.  Camping, in our world, means eating a lot of not-good-for-you food.  Not good for you food is a primary staple of any proper PMSing woman's diet.  So I attacked chips, S'mores, trail mix and anything else available comprised of salt, sugar or both, with wild abandon.  And then wondered why I wasn't as skinny as the blonde bitch on the beach. 

The first day camping wasn't the worst.  The bloating hadn't yet set in and while I knew I wasn't exactly 'rocking' my bathing suit, it wasn't horrible. Days 2 and 3 brought considerable bloating courtesy of estrogen, Coors Light and Lays.  Given I refuse to buy and wear a one piece and instead remain committed to the oh-so-sexy 'tankini', my bloated belly really gave that thing a run for it's money.  Just knockin' the sexy factor through the roof. 

It was hot while we camped.  It stormed.  We spent a lot of time together hot, sweaty and sans TV.  Most of the time, it was great.  Other times I was known to bark out such gems as: "Clearly three days is too much!"  We camped for three days.  It's not too much unless you have short term Multiple Personality Disorder.

On the bright side, camping also means sitting by a fire every night and this in turn means you should drink every night.  Alcohol is known to alleviate of all symptoms PMS related.  I was quite a relaxed campfire girl in the evenings despite the hormonal siege I was under. 

I didn't have to deal with any of the super fun aspects of this special time of the month until we were home with super convenient indoor plumbing, so really I am grateful for that.  As we all know, bears smell 'it'.  If you don't get that reference, get a life and watch Anchorman.

So maybe after all, aside from abusing a bathing suit, PMSing while enjoying the Great Outdoors isn't a bad way to go.  I'm sure my husband will say the same given he got to spend this special time with me in a camper.  Come to think of it, it did seem as though he was smoking more than usual...I initially attributed that to us being outside (he's not allowed to smoke in the house) and so he was enjoying his freedom.  But in hindsight, maybe it more...never mind, I am a joy and a treasure all of the time, and I'm sure he'd say the same.

Kindness at Wal-Mart

I got home from a trip to Wal-Mart a little while ago.  What's so special about that? Not much until I looked at the contents of my shopping trip sailing past me on the little black conveyor belt...

Super Plus tampons, a bag of Fudgee-Os, a bag of chocolate covered almonds, a bag of chocolate macaroons and a four litre jug of skim milk. ( I feel like the person who goes through a drive thru and orders a second super-sized meal for an imaginary friend but gets a Diet Coke).

Pretty impressive, hey? I'm just thankful the cashier was not me because I'm not sure I could let someone pass through with an order like that without comment or at least a smirk.

I feel pretty.

Exhibit 'B'

I am exhausted. Long day, again, at work. How does one cope with such stress...well in my current state one copes with this stress with the following:

1) Eating the rest of a 'Mr. Munchy' chocolate rabbit. Which, for the record, is a rip-off. Those things used to be much bigger. I could give a rat's ass if the kids of America are a bunch of obese little monsters now. I want an old school Easter Bunny where the ears are not the biggest part of the whole thing.

2) Inflicting 'Hurricane Angela' on the remainder of the Easter Bunny House. For those of you who don't know, an Easter Bunny House is much like a gingerbread house except it's made out of vanilla cookie and yummy yummy icing. 'Hurricane Angela' swept through there Monday and the roof was lost. Today another 'weather system' moved through and pretty much finished off the rest of the house.

3) Eating two or three mini eggs, a Reese bunny rabbit (very very small).

4) Washing it all down with a delicious glass of cold milk.

Now, stress eating has long been a pattern of mine, but this seems to be a little excessive even for me. I did not even consider eating any regular food for supper because if it's not chocolate, at present, I don't want it. If the taste is not going to be heightened by the addition of cold milk to my palate, I am not interested.

What I am, in fact, is bloated.