I wonder how many romantic relationships that otherwise would have been really successful fail because during that crucial time of “we’ve hung out a few times, but I’m not sure I want to continue to do so”, the girl suffers major PMS, goes batshit crazy (in every area of her life) and returns to human form only to find it’s too late for damage control.
(in other news, in the last hour and a half I have: hated myself, almost cried, decided it's inevitable I will get a brain tumor from stress, took deep breaths, actually cried, hated single men, eaten all carbs within a ten mile radius of my face, hated married men, felt extreme rage at a person for moving too slowly into a metro car, realized this too shall pass, eaten more ice cream than you can find at a midwestern state fair, and realized THIS WILL NEVER FUCKING PASS! And not necessarily in that order.)
It'd be funny if I didn't want to punch everything that moved, and then cry over it. BEING A WOMAN IS AWESOME.
**I wonder, part two: when will I regret posting this?**