Monday, September 8, 2008


As a former nanny, I have no sympathy for kids who do something evil then innocently say, "The devil made me do it". Similarly, I have no sympathy for grown women who chew each other up, spit each other out, then claim, "My hormones made me do it!"

At least I didn't have sympathy for those women… until last Friday.

Before that day, I believed the initials "P.M.S." were just a permission slip for bad behavior.

In my mind, P.M.S. was not the reason women binged on chocolate, it was not the reason they snapped at their coworkers, it was not the reason they cried like emotional idiots, and it was not the reason 3 million men would rather spend a week in a cave with a rabid bear than be with their wives during a "hormonal" time.

"I am sick and tired of catty women," I said to my gynecologist a few weeks ago. "Why do they think they can blame everything on their hormones?"

"Just out of curiosity," she shot back irritably, "Would you mind if I did a little blood work on you?"

Uh-oh. I must have visited on a bad day, I thought. Was my Gyno offended at my lack of understanding about hormones? Was she under the belief that hormones were causing her current bad mood? Was she looking for an excuse to jab a needle into my arm and watch me bleed?

Out of curiosity about the results, I consented. Imagine my shock when a week later she called to say there was something wrong with me. "You have too much testosterone," she said. "It's not healthy for a woman."

"That explains a lot," I said, as I thought about my penchant for spending time in caves with bears, my ability to grow thick black hair on my upper lip, and most of all – my hatred and impatience for catty women.

"Don't worry about a thing," she said. "I'll give you a prescription and we'll get your hormones balanced in no time."

That was five days ago, and "balanced" is the last thing I'm feeling.

I just finished my second Hershey's chocolate bar, yelled at my boss for not giving me a raise, and cried like an emotional idiot simultaneously.

I'm weighing my options when it comes to this hormone balance thing. If I go back to testosterone dominance, I can have it all: weight loss, happy personality, and hairy upper lip.

Nothing a little waxing won't fix.

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I know all about waiting--for the right guy, for high school to end, for my boobs to come in (two out of three ain't bad).

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