I'm either PMSing or pregnant and either way it means a load of stress for my poor husband. I'm pretty sure it's PMS seeing as how last night I strung together a list of pseduo curse words a mile long and slammed the front door before I sped off in the car, leaving a baffled Jeff standing in the kitchen holding a half empty carton of milk. I'm not quite sure what what set me off.
One minute I was sitting on the couch reading a Sookie Stackhouse novel and the next I'm in an utter rage over the fact that we don't have enough milk to make potato soup. And if you thought my husband was shocked at my outburst, you should have seen the unlucky people who decided that last night was a good night to patronize the Publix in my town. I marched towards the dairy section in a snit and then got distracted by the fresh cooked chicken. Which I bought and then ate WHILE I was walking through the store, mumbling incoherently about never having enough milk.
That's when I noticed that the dairy section was looking quite bare because I live in Georgia and when the weatherman hints of snow in this state, everyone runs to the store and buys up all the milk and bread. In case of a blizzard. IN GEORGIA. I know. So I see from afar that there is only one gallon of milk left. A single, solitary gallon of milk left in the entire store. And someone else is headed straight for it.
And let me tell you something, I did not put down my novel and get out in the cold weather for no good reason to have someone else beat me to the last gallon of milk. I kicked it into high gear, walking as quickly as I could without full out running. I can only imagine what I must have looked like, half sprinting towards the milk while frantically trying to finish my fried chicken so that I'd have a hand free to grab said milk. The whole thing would have been easier if I'd had a partner really, but for some unkown reason Jeff refuses to go to the grocery store with me.
I recounted the scenario to him after I triumphantly waltzed into the kitchen holding the milk. "So I'm pretty sure that since I just went a little crazy there, I'm probably not pregnant. It's probably just the PMS." Jeff eyed me for a moment while he patiently continued making dinner. "Or it's just the crazy" he said. I rolled my eyes and flounced off to the bedroom to try on all the bras that only fit me once a month, the ones that aren't training bras.
