My body has been taking over by an alternate personality. It usually happens for about a week once a month. I hear that other women have the same problem.
Mine is named TOM. Sometimes he goes by Aunt Flo, when he's having gender identity issues. It happens. Sometimes he just feels like getting all dolled up. There is nothing wrong with an evil, ugly man with no social graces and ridiculously poor timing putting on a dress and heels every now and then. Don't judge.
Sometimes TOM likes to mess with me when he visits. He messes around with my stomach so I feel like I've just eaten a hundred chili bean burritos laced with exlax. Then there are the times he just fills my belly up with the heaviest air ever so I feel like I'm with child. Well, with adolescent. Or creepy adult child who lives in the basement and refuses to get a job or pay for his own corn chips.
That TOM is such a prankster sometimes.
I think he may be going too far this visit, though. Inducing cheeto binges, shrinking all my clothes and forcing me to cry at refrigerator commercials is one thing. But mind control is a whole other game. He's taking things to a whole new level now.
Let me give you some examples of how TOM is trying to take over my brain.
Me: Oh wow. MB cut down all those overgrown bushes in the back of the yard. Yay. It looks like he worked really hard. We can even see the weeping cherry tree that was hidden under there. He cut the grass too. And he put the air conditioner in the window. He even helped pull weeds in the pond. What an awesome guy.
TOM: Are you insane? That rat bastard doesn't deserve your appreciation. What has he done for you lately? Snored? Farted? Left his socks on the floor? Why don't you spend a little more time pointing out all his flaws instead of thanking him for the one effing day he spends helping you out? Dammit, you are such a sucker.
Me: I know I need to finish weeding around the pond, weed in the front of the house, recoil the hose, finish the laundry, clean the bathroom, sweep up the dog hair, vacuum downstairs, clean up the guest room, make dinner, brew more iced tea and pack my lunch for tomorrow but I really only have a few hours and I kind of want to chill for a little bit.
TOM: You are such an effin loser! A worthless piece of crap excuse for a human being! What's the matter? Can't handle a few chores? You are so weak. You must do all of these things and do them now and do them well. There are no excuses. Chill? I don't think so. Get over yourself, princess. I don't care if you end up crying in the fetal position in your freshly scrubbed tub, you will get your ass up and finish every ever loving last chore plus 7 more. Just because.
Me: Maam, you were looking for the number to the local food bank? I have that phone number for you. Are you ready? Oh. You need to get a pen. That's fine. I'll wait. (waiting...waiting...waiting...for 6 minutes and 28 seconds) Yes maam, I'm still here. I know it's hard to find stuff when you are just moving in. You have a nice day.
TOM: Wtf?! Are you effing serious? You call an effing crisis hotline to get a phone number and you don't even have an effing pen ready?! Seriously?! You really think I have 6 minutes and 28 seconds to waste listening to you search for a freakin pen?! Oh that's okay. I'm sure there aren't any suicidal clients trying to get through while you are making me deal with this jackassery. You and your quest for a pen are definitely more important than anyone else and their little life crises. Bastard.
Me: That DQ caramel brownie blizzard looks super delicious. I really shouldn't.
TOM: Who the hell are you? Of course you should. And you will. And you will like it. And you will have 3 more this week.
If I don't take drastic measures soon, I will end up single, obese and jobless in a padded room. I think it's time for an exorcism.
Or just lots of booze.
Of course, I can kind of see his wisdom with the whole crisis call thing. That's a really long time to have to listen to someone look for a pen.