I’ve always been the first person to admit that the general female populace, though essential to the procreation of mankind (person-kind), is crazy. The woman you see walking down the street who is dressed to the T, who seems so damn put together and has legs that you fantasize could grip you around the waist like a vice (this image is for the men and maybe some women too) is a fucking mess. She’s full of the same insecurities, fears, manias and identity crisis to plague her every waking moment that her uglier, haggish counterparts suffer from. Women, in essence, are constant walking messes and I am no exception. The thing is though; most of us completely recognize this fact. We will talk about it with our girlfriends, spilling our guts out and often being vindicated when your girl leans in and whispers, “I know exactly how you feel,” much to your relief that you aren’t quit that crazy. Most certainly there is comfort in numbers.

The best thing is, we can probably blame the moments of our worst mania (and paranoia) and general crazy ass behavior completely and squarely upon PMS. It’s our biological legacy passed on from generation to generation; it’s an excuse we can cling to with ferocity and men accept though they may not necessarily like. I’m sure many a women have shot murderous looks at male friends who have been caught muttering under their breaths “Oh, she’s got to be PMS’ing”.

Suggestion: Think it buddy, don’t say it out loud.

What I don’t understand is while most women admit to boughts with PMS in turn which creates the crazies we can be…why are men so completely in the closet regarding their own brand of PMS? Hell, most women are more than to say (with an appropriate scowl) "I was totally PMS'ing" (again men, don't agree with her outloud even if you quitely agree) but I think just like women, men suffer from the same problem. I’ve often told my bestest friends that men suffer from Male PMS (MPMS as I like to call it) and even if it’s never been diagnosed (though I bet if we google it, we can find some study out there conducted in some prestegious university on just such a thing), it doesn’t mean that it doesn’t exist. I know without a shadow of a doubt that my own P suffers from the Monthly Menace. If not this simple explanation for his occasional manic, confusing and often downright mean behavior, then I best break out the Yellow Pages and let my fingers do the walking right to the ‘place in which to commit your loved one’ section.

Do not misunderstand me. I love P fiercely. Actually, like all other crazy women, I believe firmly that I can talk smack as much as I want about my man but the minute you do, we have a serious problem.

This being said, he’s a total lunatic and MPMS clearly plagues him as much as it plagues me once every month.

Here’s an example: the other night when I got home (yes a little late to be sure) I walked into a P who had locked himself in the bathroom. I tapped and called to him in a sing song voice. He barked back, "what?" Okayyy, I thought, maybe he's cranky considering he was just heading out to work in the dead of night to do server maintenance or something of the sort and so was pretty much leaving the house as I was getting home. When I asked him if he was coming home early from work since he was pretty much going to work all night long, he gave me a curt "No" in response.

Hmmm…

When I tried to interject concern for him through my words and pointed out that he’d be tired after such a long day (yes I was stating the obvious but whatever) and that he should get back at a decent hour so he could get some sleep, he replied "I’m busy too, just like you."

Okay now I knew that MPMS had reared its ugly head. ACK!

Instead of snapping right back as I would normally feel inclined to do, I held my tongue, waited for him to leave and started typing with fury to get all my rage out before taking it out on his ass. Unfortunately the next night, when I got home, he still looked at me with a scowl that seemed now tatooed to his forehead.

This lasted for about 2 days (which was about 47.5 hours too long). Soon of course he tried to rectify his behavior by cooking me dinner, making small talk (which he had been adamant not to do in the prior two days) and paying special attention to my needs.

Now I'm a reasonable adult, I love him, I care for him, I understand emotions veering in directions we can hardly control hence we should not be completely blamed for the actions that come from these emotions, so I forgave him quickly (after I made him grovel appropriately naturally) afterwhich I pointed out that indeed he did suffer from MPMS. He immediately scoffed at the notion, denying any such thing even existing. His reaction was that akin to Paris Hilton staying at a Hojo with a room full of smelly day old fish.

Doesn't matter how he denies it. In fact id doesn't much matter how much he nor the rest of teh Y chromosome populace denies it, MPMS lives and thrives. My suggestion to all ya'll lads: Learn to live with it, accept it.

I’ve seen it in all of you, whether you’re P, my other male family members, friends, past …ahem…’relationships’….whatever category you fall in, you have it. Deal with it.
At least I have a biological reason, what’s yours damn it?