Important Information for Men Folk.

Now before I begin to tell this story, there should be some background information that I need to share, to truly set the scene.

Freezing cold weather has truly set in here in Sydney, along with howling winds. As a seasonal association disorder sufferer, (SAD) my mood has been permanently grim this week. I am constantly cold and constantly STARVING, and not for healthy foods. I want hot, salty, creamy, greasy and I want it all served up in a big bowl while sitting in a couch fort with a doona and a hot water bottle.

Oh and then there is the menstro situ going on. I was lucky enough, in this the month of May, to have tried to breed twice! What the actual fuck? It is like my body is seriously chucking down powdered eggs in the last-ditch attempt to remain a useful member of society. I WANT LESS OF THIS SCENARIO PLEASE MOTHER NATURE, NOT MORE.

FFS.

Anyway, despite snacking on Evening Primrose Oil tablets like tic tacs, the mood has been, how should I put this politely? Temperamental. Now I have run up enough hours with Dr. Susan, Talking Doctor to the Stars, to know what I need to do to lift me out of my fog.

But things came to a head last night.

When your kids get older, they get really busy with after-school activities like work, practices, rehearsals etc and my kids are total joiners. I have no idea where they get this from. Anyway, there is rarely an evening that we are all home. There is always a nuking option in the fridge for them to eat when they get home.

Mr Woog has gone on a health kick and cooks lentil curries and shit like that. So last night, he heated up his curry and ate it. About half an hour later, he came to me and asked when I was going to heat up my chicken and leek pie that I had bought myself for dinner because it ticked off all my current dietary requirements, those, of course, being hot, salty, creamy and greasy.

I told him that it was none of his business.

Later, I heated up the pie. After 20 minutes I took it out of the oven and placed it on the bench to cool for a while so I wouldn’t subject myself to third-degree burns to the roof of my mouth like I had done so in the past.

Mr Woog meandered into the kitchen and inquired what the possibility was that he could try my pie. Feeling an unusual pang of compassion, I said he could have a bite.

So when I later went to get my cooled down pie, you could imagine my fucking HORROR when I discovered that there was only just over half the pie left.

I grabbed the plate and went storming onto the office where Mr. Woog was sitting at the desk watching some shit on you-tube and unleashed the biggest hissy fit that I have had in decades.

“WHY THE FUCK WOULD YOU EAT MY FUCKING DINNER? I WAS FUCKING STARVING AND YOU GO AND EAT MY PIEEEEEEEEEEE!”

And then, just to seal the deal, I burst into hysterical sobs, emitting sounds that could be heard by dogs at least six suburbs over. There I was, standing in the hallway, shoulders heaving while Mr. Woog looked for a way to flee the house without bringing attention to himself.

Look, what I did may be classified as an over-reaction. But can anyone else understand?

Several years ago a mate, who we shall call Julie, gave birth to her third son. The following day, she instructed her husband, who we shall call Dave, to fetch her three chicken spring rolls from the local Chinese along with a serve of the sticky sweet fluro orange sauce that accompany it. He was dispatched on foot, and set off up the road. At the restaurant, Dave put in the order and sat and waited, while he looked at the large lobsters in the tank, dreaming of a ginger and shallot sauce. He felt himself getting a little peckish.

The order arrived and Dave took the piping hot bag in his hands and opened it. A waft of delicious pong hit his nostrils. The crispiness of the pastry proved too much. As hot as they were, he ate of one of the spring rolls as he walked back to the hospital.

Julie was sitting upright in bed when Dave handed her the bag. Their son slept silently in the oblong fish bowl alongside his mother. As she peered into the bag, she noticed that one spring roll was missing.

Dave confessed to have had eaten it on the walk back.

Julie lost her shit and kicked him out of the hospital room. How their marriaged survived after that is one of lifes great mysteries.

In conclusion, my advice moving forward is do not come between a hormonal woman and her food.

The End.