Saturday, March 20, 2010

“And then he ran in to my knife...”

There is a fantastic scene from the fourth series of British comedy, Coupling, where a very pregnant Susan is having a fight with her partner, Steve. Steve mentions that its unfair how now she is pregnant she has an excuse for everything: all she has to do is say “HORMONES” and suddenly she's off the hook. He laments further, claiming if she can say that when he too is full of hormones (like everybody else) then why can't he, during an argument say “Sorry dear, testicles”.

Which brings me to my point (yep, I've got one). I've always thought that the excuse of “hormones” was a bit pathetic. I've never really been a big PMS sufferer so have never had to grasp the concept that strange chemicals being released by your ovaries could change your behaviour so much. So pregnancy and its trillions of hormones have created a very steep learning curve for me. To put it bluntly, I've turned in to a bitch.

We've all had those days when everything goes wrong; you're running late, the car in front stalls, the woman putting through our groceries seems more interested in telling you her life story than actually scanning your Weetbix box and you're ready to snap. At these times we (meaning I) smile politely and nod, while in our heads we are saying nasty things we wouldn't dream of ever saying out loud. It's a handy mute button feature that saves us from being punched in the face. These days, even after twelve years of Catholic schooling teaching me to turn the other cheek and 'do unto others' etc, my mute button has started to fail.

So far I've been able to restrain myself and this faulty volume control has not been unleashed on an unsuspecting public. No, much worse than that – it is directed at those people who least deserve it (not that the check out chick deserves it, I'm sure she's lovely). Hubby has so far had to deal with the majority of it, albeit with what I believe are truly courteous warnings before hand such as “Watch out I'm cranky and you're within striking distance”.

The other person to be on the receiving end is my sister, although I'm not actually being mean to her, I just use her to vent to. Its quite cathartic for me, and she gets a kick out of getting the latest gossip about whomever has pushed my buttons that day.

But are these victims people actually pushing my buttons? Has everyone suddenly gotten stupider and more annoying? Plain and simple answer is no, I've just turned in to a super sensitive hormone filled sack without an ounce of tact.

It reminds me of my favourite song from the musical Chicago which I was lucky enough to see on stage this week for the fifth time (slightly obsessed). It's called 'Cell Block Tango' and its women singing about the men they have killed – they say that it was a murder but not a crime - would 'hormones' hold up in court as grounds for justifiable homicide? For Hubby's sake, maybe don't tell me the answer. “...He ran in to my knife TEN TIMES!”

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