Friday, February 26, 2010


This evening, Savage Kitten and I will be sitting down to a sumptuous feast. To be more specific, SHE will be sitting down to feast, I will merely have a snack.
From which I do not wish you to infer that she is in any way a groisse fresser, or bigly built.

[Fine-boned, little over a hundred pounds at five foot four and a half inches. Small.]

I expect that she will have a large steak with two fried eggs on top. Plus whatever comes with it. Probably potatoes, two vegs, and soup or salad to start. And a roll. Plus a side of something deep-fried.
Then a big slice of pie - a la mode more likely than not.
As well as a double or triple vanilla milk-shake.
A veritable battlefield of cholesterol.

My meal shall be more modest, in keeping with my Spartan and unselfindulgent personality.
Maybe a salad. Or a simple bowl of soup.

Did I ever mention that I'm bucking for sainthood?


Perhaps you are wondering at the difference in our eating habits? How could two people of such divergent dining preferences possibly be together? What's going on here?

The answer, in one word: PMS

PMS lasts about a week, slightly longer than the event that follows. During that time, the average woman has a deepseated yearning for such things as fried chicken with ranch dressing, double-cheese deep-dish pizza, pint-buckets of ice-cream, huge hunks of broiled beef, family size bag of cheddar cheese potato chips (and a tub or two of dip), the party sampler from Big Bob's Barbecue, whole deep-fried pig, lobster with a gallon of drawn butter, and the entire triple chocolate cheesecake for her alone.

There is nothing subtle or refined about women during PMS.
They need, they feed.
Five meals a day. Extra grease, double helpings.

In between eating and eating and eating and eating, they bark, snap, growl, and bite. Do not disturb them, they are frenzied.
Innocent men have been ripped to shreds for interfering with a woman and her food at such times. Families have been slaughtered and wars started - and both forest fires and tidal waves are the direct result of pms-related hunger.
Fully half of mankind is fiercely dysfunctional twelve weeks out of the year.

It is agonizing. For the rest of us.

Fortunately, Savage Kitten is entirely different, being an exceptionally even-tempered person. She isn't like other women at all. Instead, she is calm, rational, emotionally balanced. A very peaceful and loving companion. Who hardly ever loses her temper.

[No, she doesn't read this blog. Why do you ask?]

Honestly, I don't know how the rest of you men take it, though.
How come you're not all dead yet?


Anonymous said...

The last time I cohabitated with a creature of PMS sufferings, cannot in any way be concluded to have been negative. Hark! All she wanted to do was fuck instead of consume mass quantities of fat & cholesterol. I think, perhaps though, that was a unique situation.

quesily amphibious said...

Thanks for sharing.

Anonymous said...

Up until a "certain age", I had seemingly un-limited apetite and capacity. "All you can eat" restaurants were a personal challenge. Even, the university meal hall, (notably industrial tasting food). However, passed a certain decade, that sees to have moderated.



Mmmmm, fried chicken!

The back of the hill said...

PMS ended two days ago. The fried chicken has done its job.

Anonymous said...

But here it is, 2013, and you have been separated for three years. She is probably still consuming fried chicken, and steaak with eggs on top, and pie, and potato chips.

But you, dear man, are not getting any.

Does she have the courtesy to at least NOT look divinely intercoursible at those times?

Or are you drooling as you watch her eat?

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