Rampant bitchery

“I got my period.”

“That’s not entirely a surprise,” he says.

“What do you mean? I think it’s a couple of days early.”

“Well, you do get kind of… rampant before your period. And you were kind of…manic.”

What does he mean? I think. Surely I’m always pretty enthusiastic?

Oh.

“You mean when I said “Let’s have a nap,” and then got pissed off with you because you fell asleep instead of feeling me up?”

There’s a telling pause. I think he did point out, after I’d prodded him awake indignantly (both indignant by the time I’d woken him up) that it had, after all, been me who had suggested sleep, and also that we had been fucking for four hours more or less non-stop before that.

Worse was still to come, though. A couple of months later, I stand in the doorway and look at him.

“OK, you know when I said, “I know you’re having a major life crisis and aren’t really thinking about orgasms, but that doesn’t necessarily apply to me, too?” (He obliged).

“Yes?”

“I just want you to know that I’m not completely insensitive. I just got my period.”

He graciously accepts hormones as an excuse for complete insensitivity. I make a mental note to try to remember not to act like a sex-starved bitch next time I’m premenstrual, and put it in the same place I put the mental note I’d made previously.