NYC…PMS…SOS


I’m headed to NYC with a dear friend of mine tomorrow.  I’ll just refer to her as Fashion Plate Barbie.  She’s one of those women who always looks beautifully put-together – cute dresses, shoes and accessories, regardless of where she is.  Like the ladies in the soap operas.

Seriously, why are those soap opera ladies always dressed up?  Nikki Newman on the Young and the Restless is a homemaker, for shit’s sake. Why is she wearing cocktail dresses and dripping in diamonds in the middle of the day??

Anyway, back to Fashion Plate Barbie – sometimes she even wears really cool head scarves that make her look 60’s-style mod.  I am in awe of her sense of style.

And then there’s me.

I’m more like Barbie’s sexless little sister, Skipper.  My uniform is jeans and a sweater.  (I was planning to wear sneakers to the city because the last time we went, I wore what I thought were ‘comfortable’ shoes – clogs with a low heel – and I wanted to amputate my feet with a butter knife by the end of the day.) I always feel a little under-dressed when I’m with her, but we always have a good time together.  As much as I’m looking forward to spending time with her, I’m terrified that she’s going to want to go out on the town while we’re there for I lack the wardrobe, the shoes and (most importantly) the gumption for that.

Oh, I forgot to mention that we’re spending the night.  How cool is that?? We’re staying at someplace called the Manhattan Club.  She told me that one of her clients told her she could have it for a weekend.  She must be the best realtor EVER!  When she told me we were staying there I was all ‘oh, how nice!’ because a free stay is a free stay, but I didn’t know anything about it.  Turns out it’s pretty swanky.  Rethinking the sneakers.

Unfortunately, I’m rocking some pretty serious PMS right now.  It shouldn’t be a problem, though, because my husband won’t be there to annoy me by doing things like vacuuming the counter when I’ve asked him to help me clean the house.

Honest to God.

We had a contractor scheduled to come to the house this morning to give us an estimate on some work we’re planning to have done.  Jack was kind enough to volunteer to help me clean up the filth before he was scheduled to arrive.  And by ‘volunteer to help me clean up’, I mean ‘not whine like a little girl when I asked him to help me clean up’.

I appreciate Jack’s help around the house.  I really do.  It’s just that sometimes he has difficulty with prioritization.  For instance, early in our marriage he was a shift worker.  On his days off, I’d give him a to-do list.  If we’re being honest, it was more of a wish list.  If we’re being brutally honest, it was more of a list of things I would be angry about when I got home.  This is how it went:

To-Do:

Unload dishwasher

Reload Dishwasher

Clean sink

Wipe down counters

Sweep kitchen floor

Ten hours later, I’d come home and find the dishwasher full of clean dishes, the sink full of dirty dishes, crumbs and other food particles all over the counters and muddy floors. Meanwhile, the junk drawer would be cleaned out, the silverware drawer would be completely reorganized and the pantry would be alphabetized.

And my head would explode.

Today, I asked him to vacuum while I dusted and he accidentally vacuumed the furniture polish I had just sprayed on the kitchen table.  Seriously.  He apologized and told me he had just vacuumed the kitchen counters and had gotten carried away.  Deep breath.

About 10 minutes before the contractor was scheduled to arrive, I was running around like a maniac trying to hide dirty laundry and straighten up the bathroom.  When I was in the bathroom, I noticed that the floor needed to be vacuumed, but I couldn’t find the vacuum cleaner…because Jack had decided it was necessary to completely dismantle it so he could clean each piece and wash the filter.  True story.

Sometimes I think the makers of Midol have hired him on the sly to test the limits of their product.  I’m pretty sure he’s telling them they need to develop bionic-strength formula, stat.   I’m also guessing he’s even more excited about my trip than I am.

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11 thoughts on “NYC…PMS…SOS

  1. A more important question is why do the MEN on those soap operas talk the way they do? I have NEVER met a man in my 63 years that dialogued like those guys do…..I get the the Barbie doll gals, but the men on those shows are just plain bizzare! Jack seems more realistic to me …BTW the days ahead of you will include no need for Midol or any other items labeled for females only…The best part of old age!

    • Couldn’t agree more, MJ. I have long believed that soap opera writers are either women or gay men.

      BTW, is it weird that I’m actually looking forward to menopause??

  2. Darts… At our house, when PMS, or no eye-contact week as we called it when my step-daughter lived here, was an issue we wanted darts like the tranquilizers that they shoot at lions and tigers and bears… I’m not going to type it, you already thought it… When my step-son turned 12, my wife and I showed him how to count out 28 days on the calendar and mark off a buffer zone so that he could stay away from his sister and live to see 13. She was straight up nutty for a while and this was foreign to me… My Mom and Sister never were so off the wall… My wife would sleep it off… She would have major episodes over the timer on the dryer being inaccurate… So this is why we wanted a long-range option. If Jack could pass that on to the folks at Midol, I’m sure I can’t be the only guy who’s needed these…

    Enjoy the city and don’t sweat the wardrobe…

  3. I’ll be sending “Barbie” a dozen roses. And, PS, the vacuum smelled like ass before I cleaned it.

    You’re welcome.

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