Thursday, July 1, 2010

Feeshy Wife

I despise PMS. I always hated to pretend to be feeling just fine when instead I would prefer to bite your head off simply because it was there. We women should be awarded for our acting prowess. No, we don't get shit for not going apeshit. I think it's damn well time we did.

So, I've turned into a harridan for the next couple of weeks. That's the nasty part. How long the whole fucking process lasts. Whatever that might be? Bodies are always trying to keep you alert and on your toes. So our bodies- our aging women's bodies- like to play guessing games with us. We are not amused.

(By the way, I despise all males who describes any female with this sort of comment: "She must be on the rag." We can still run fucking circles around you while you're so busy patting yourselves on the back for being so clever. Well, guess what? It's not clever. In fact it's sophomoric and insulting and makes you look even more the fool than you actually are. And you wonder why so many couples divorce. No, I don't think this is a man/woman thing. It's a woman/idiot-man thing. Which to say, thank the Lord, not all men are idiots.

On a trip to Budapest many years ago, we hired a guide to take us through The Royal Palace. Istvan (Steven in Hungarian) was a hoot. On our tour, Istvan points out to us a fig tree. After my mother says how much she likes fresh figs, Istvan leaps over the balustrade into the tree to pick Mom a few figs. He manages his way back to us and kisses my mother's hand. As my French-Canadian aunt would say "Ooh, tres gallant!"

At the very top of Gellert Hill (in Buda), is an ginormous statue on a ginormous base called "The Liberation Monument," which the Soviets erected in 1947 representing the defeat of fascism. She (Ms. Ginormous) is a young woman, holding an olive branch of peace. If I recall correctly the wind is blowing through her hair. All very dramatic. All very Soviet. You can't help but see her. She's beyond massive. Istvan say that the locals refer to her as a "feeshy wife." I adore that man. (FYI, He is not an idiot.)

PMS is worse when you can't breathe, because everything is worse when you can't breathe.

Lovely news, I emailed my book synopsis to an editor I found in the Acknowledgements section of a book I really love and admire (Lost in Translation by Eva Hoffman). Hot damn, she loved the synopsis! She said the book summary was lovely and the writing in it delightful! Even with PMS, I actually think I've written something real.

So I apologize. For the next week or so, I will be a "feeshy wife" but I do hope, still a lovable one to those that matter, and you all know who you are. xoxoxox


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