Beware PMT (men - you might want to look away now).

If you are a man and particularly if you are a man related to me in some way, either by blood or marriage, you might want to look away now because today I'm going to talk about women's things. In particular I'm going to talk about PMT. I know! This is how to spot the signs...

You know you have PMT when the mother in front of you, innocently dawdling into the playground in the morning, walks just a little too slowly for your liking causing you to think - WHY THE HELL CAN'T YOU HURRY UP, YOU STUPID BAG!

You know you have PMT when you realise you have forgotten something at the till in Waitrose (I make no apologies) and you politely turn to the man behind to say - "I'm so sorry, I've forgotten something, I won't be a 
tick," and he turns his head away from you to indicate that he is annoyed and this makes you want to SLAP HIM IN THE FACE.

You know when you have PMT when your youngest child says: "Are you sad, Mummy, that I'm leaving primary school and you won't see your friends any more?" and you want to BURST INTO TEARS. 

You know you have PMT when you come back from taking same child to a club/tutor/playdate and it's your tenth trip in the car somewhere that day and you left the kitchen immaculately tidy (it took you hours) and someone has made a sandwich and in the process scattered breadcrumbs and ham and lettuce and God-knows-what all over the kitchen work top and the floor and so you scream at the top of your voice - WHO DID THIS! And then you make the two eldest children clean up while actually timing them with the cooker timer: "You have four minutes! I'm going to sit here and drink my tea," and the eldest one shouts - "Do you have PMT or something!"

You know when you have PMT when UNICEF call you on your mobile in the middle of timed clearing-up session and the conversation goes: "We're just calling to tell you about our work in Syria..."

"That's great. I fully support your work in Syria, which is why I texted so you could buy warm blankets for freezing children, but I don't think you should then use my number to call me in the middle of the day."

"Oh I'm sorry would you prefer me to phone in the evening?"

"Not really, I would prefer you not to phone me at all. I would like to decide when and how I donate. I don't agree with cold calling."

"This isn't cold calling, we're just ringing to tell you..."

"...and I don't think you should argue with me when I say I don't want to talk to you."

"Well, madam, I think you should just relax." 

And you think - RELAX! YOU WANT ME TO RELAX! HOW CAN I RELAX! MY KITCHEN FLOOR IS COVERED WITH CRAP! but you can't say this because the person has hung up on you and consequently you would like to KILL THAT PERSON, if only you knew who that person was, or had any idea how to ring them back.

And then, finally, you really know you have PMT when your new phone app, called Pink Pad by the way, which tracks your menstrual cycle and is jolly useful, sends you a message that says: "Aunty Flow is coming" and you think...

Oh!

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