P.S.M.'s

A few years ago, when my son was learning about PMS, he got the letters mixed up and called it PSM. Actually....he says PSM's....as in, "are you having PSM's?" Since so many of his incredibly sweet mispronounciations have fallen by the wayside (words like "doorbello" and "Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound, that saved a wrench like me"), I never corrected him on the PSM's and that's what he calls it to this day. He even thinks HE is a victim of PSM! He will tell me he's in a bad mood because of PSM's or he's overly emotional due to PSM's.

Right about the time we were sitting down to dinner, the PSM train pulled into Menstruation Station. Suddenly I could hear everyone chewing, and it made me insane. I didn't like the cut of meat and went so far as to take chewed up pieces out of my mouth and put them on my plate. I hope my mother doesn't read this. Both dogs were staring at only me, and that was annoying. So I growled at them....seriously, I growled. My son eats every bit of one food, before moving to the next food. He can't alternate like a normal person. THAT was driving me crazy too and I told him he'd better eat a bite of potato. He ate a bite of potato.

I looked over at hubby and said, "Maybe a bit of PSM's?" He didn't answer right away. I could see the wheels turning, his brain racing to find just the right answer. He took a deep breath and said "I was going to say that your shoulder was sore, but if you say it's PMS then that's what it is." Is the man smooth, or what?

I know I'm being a witch, I hear myself being a witch, I don't WANT to be a witch. I'm a witch.