I am also a wonderful wife. I totally love my husband. I watch sports with him. I turn his filthy socks right side out before washing them and harvest his underwear from the doorknobs. I even allow him to play golf twice a year. What a gal, right? They are lucky to have me! I do, however, suffer from a slight case of PMS several days of the month. All right. I am lying. For several days out of each month, I become nothing short of Sybil.

What IS it with hormones anyway? Capable of turning the most docile of woman into B movie werewolf, the hormonal swing each month can be frightening! I personally think that Edgar Allen Poe's original story of The Pit & The Pendulum had to do with his wife's mood swings, but she found the manuscript during a particularly bad case of PMS and scared him into changing it. I know women who actually kick their husband's into the guestroom during that time. "He is like an allergy! I can't stand to even breathe in the same room with him!" In my house, I just make a big black circle around the date my family can expect me to begin sprouting fangs and slobbering. <continued below>

It starts slowly as I become less patient. I begin to critique other drivers and fume at red lights. My children discern the change and become quieter during our drives.

Perhaps, they, being female, somehow sense that they are witnessing their own futures and are taking notes. Perhaps, they just don't want to be the match that lights the fuse. My darling husband immediately looks to the calendar when he comes home three minutes late and I ask "What's her name?!"

The next two days are a study in keeping myself under control for the kids' sake. I inform them in a drippingly sweet tone, ala Cruella DeVil, that mommy is not in a good mood and would they PLEEEEEEEEASE try to behave. Unfortunately, children have the attention span of fleas, and thirty seconds after my plea, are screaming like banshees and pulling each other's hair.

PMS Vesuvius erupts, and I begin talking too fast. Big mistake when you are angry. "I told you to gee bood or I am going to bend you to your broom!" What? (You lose all credibility with a six-year-old when that happens. She must think PMS stands for Please Make Sense). I am smart enough to exit stage right for a brief intermission. I KNOW they are laughing at me!

When hubby gets home the children run to him like he is an oasis in the desert. "Daddy, save us from the heathen witch that has become our mother!" He enters the kitchen as I am banging pots and pans for effect. Now, you would think after ten years of living with me, he would know when to back off, right? Wrong. My need to be left alone seems to coincide with his need to be close. He embraces me, kisses me, tells me he missed me.

Now, somewhere inside, my heart is touched. However, my heart is also currently pumping blood that contains gravel, through my veins. I jump back as if embraced by toxic waste and again talk too fast. "CAN'T YOU TUST PEEVE ME ABONE????!?!" To @#$% with this. I disappear into my bathroom, shouting, "Calgon, take me away!"

I have tried Pamprin. I have tried Midol. I have even tried that wart stuff hawked by St. John. The only thing that truly works for me is time. Given a few days of personality disorder, I will "start", my hormones shall swing back from the dark side, and I will once again become Mother - Wife Extraordinaire. Funner than a speeding roller coaster, more praising than a chanting monk, and able to leap tall building blocks in a single bound! Until then, "PILL YOU SNEOPLE JUST GET OFF MY TACK?!?!?" HRUMPH!! Whatever!

Linda Sharp is an internationally published humorist, appearing regularly in publications from Canada to New Zealand, as well as many parenting websites. She is also co-creator of the totally irreverent and hilarious Sanity Central—A Time Out From Parenting. As a mother of three children (4 if you count her husband ), she firmly believes that laughter IS the best medicine.  Email the author. Visit her site.