This past week I’ve experienced something quite interesting: I’ve become a raging lunatic. For some reason, little things that should not even be a blip in my radar have somehow managed to fester in my atmosphere and grow until they’ve irritated me to the point of no return. Now, if you know me, you know this is not a classic personality trait of mine. I’m usually level-headed, even-keeled, and every other hyphenated phrase that describes someone who doesn’t freak out over nothing. And when I say nothing, I really mean nothing. What gives?
I’ll want something, then beat myself up for it if it’s bad for me and I shouldn’t want it. Case in point: yesterday we picked up our batch of produce from our local Farm Share. A giant bag filled with fresh tomatoes, basil, squash, peppers, potatoes, sage, rosemary…I drove it all the way home and the smell was intoxicating. But tonight, with a fridge full of fresh food, I am dying for boxed macaroni and cheese. What the hell is wrong with me???
Last night as I was cooking dinner my husband began cleaning around me and putting every last spoon and mixing bowl into the dishwasher as I cooked. (Yes, it’s great that he cleans, but he has OCD and it can be irritating when I turn around to reach for that spatula I need and he’s already got it locked and loaded and bathing in cascade.) The fourth time I went to grab a bowl and it was already out of site, I lost it. I felt myself slowly begin to unravel but tried to hold it together until he said, “But don’t you want to be more efficient?” and in the middle of my fury I yelled, “STOP F*CKING CLEANING!!! I DON’T…WANT…TO BE… MORE…EFFICIENT!!!” I caught myself off guard – did I really just say those words? And what the hell was wrong with me?
I was attempting to quell the rage, but then that famous little phrase, that “husband’s kiss of death”, innocently fell out of his mouth. I watched his lips say the words in what felt like slow motion:
Arrrrre yyyyoooouuuuu gettttttttting yoooooooour peeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeriod?
And I instantly took a swan dive off the deep end. “No!!!” I shouted. “I just had it like 3 weeks ago!” And we both looked at each other as we mentally did the math. Yep. I ran upstairs to be alone and glanced at the calendar and, low and behold, Auntie F. was en route. I normally don’t get PMS like that, but every once in a while that biatch busts into town and slaps me upside the head with her suitcase. But right at that point something curious happened: I instantly felt better. I knew what was up with me. I could do nothing but crack up, and apologize to my husband.
Later that night in bed I asked if he was mad and, with the straightest of faces, he performed his best impression of me yelling “I DON’T WANT TO BE MORE EFFICIENT!!!” We then laughed our asses off and went to bed. And tonight? I’m enjoying that box of mac and cheese, not beating myself up an ounce because of it. I’m not hurting anybody, and you know what? Sometimes it’s okay to want an entire box of mac and cheese, even if you have a full fridge of fresh food. Sometimes, you just need to indulge. And look! It’s a win-win for me and Greg – I didn’t even dirty a plate.