Ugh! Helper’s Menstrual Calendar Has Synced With Mine

Please don’t ask me how I know this, but the helper’s menstrual calendar has synced with mine. That whole syncing thing women do is, frankly, disgustingly primitive, and I would prefer to have no part in it. IMHO, it harks back to a time when men had their harems, and raced around simultaneously impregnating every woman in the vicinity. I am thankful that today we women have found ways of curbing this sort of revolting behaviour, using threats of financial ruin and custody battles over the children. In the current economic climate, men just don’t have the resources to call bluff on those threats. Except maybe in the Middle East and Utah.

The thing about men is that they just cannot help themselves. I know it’s a cliché, but clichés are true. That’s why they’re called clichés. As wives, we have a responsibility to protect them from their baser instincts. That said, if they’re too base to be saved, we must not bend over backwards or sacrifice our self-respect to stop them messing around.

If they’re surrounded by bitches in heat though, it’s not really their fault. There’s only so much we can do. Ultimately, Ladies, if you married a scumbag, then I’m afraid that is what you signed up for. Sorreeee!! Reality munches.

What with my whole menstrualness I can’t get my writing juices flowing today, so I think that’s all for now. I spose even Tina Fey and Sheryl Sandberg have their downer days.

Actually, one more effluvia-related topic. Froo Froo Dog’s anxiety about Milly asserting herself (kicking Froo Froo Dog) has now gone beyond muttering, to incontinence. Ugh. She has completely ruined the upstairs chestnut Chesterfield : ( That was a wedding present, you foul hound!

(Still no response from Will… Well, we’ll see what he has to say for himself at dinner on Friday.)

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