What a mighty fine German

So for some mysterious reason I appear to go through a bout of irritability every few weeks.

It only took roughly fifteen years to catch on. Could this be, like, cyclical or something? I would think my body had suddenly freaked out on me -- "Huh, these clothes feel unusually tight today. If only I weren't so sleepy. You know what would be a good idea? Eating everything I see. But first I think I'll act sullen and moody." And then the dawning, crumb-spewing realization: "Oh yeah...!"

Fortunately, there are some life-mates who have read the Awesome Boyfriend Handbook. Instead of getting defensive -- or worse, dismissive! -- Bert simply laughs sympathetically and squeezes me. "Meh! Meh! Meh!" I gripe. "Armes kleines Weibchen!" he says.

Then he disappears in order to draw me a bath. Places me in it; leaves me sculpting the bubbles in mindless absorption until he returns bearing several flickering tea lights and a snifter of brandy. Kneels down to hand me the glowing amber elixir and chat about the latest details of Barack Obama's visit to Baden-Baden. (The man knows me: "Quick, bring up her hero!") So I babble happily about my marvelous omnipotent handsome president; he nods and issues the right noises and hangs out just long enough to give me the attention I was probably seeking; then leaves me alone to wiggle my toes in warm water and sip Asbach and hide from the world.

Damn. I mean, damn. On second thought, I'd better not publish this post. I'd better keep this man a secret from the rest of the PMS-afflicted world!