PMS Deconstructed

I sent a friend a joke that immediately made me think of him. (It was probably the Wisconsin part.) He immediately wrote back how much it made him laugh. It goes like this.

A young guy from Wisconsin moves to Florida and goes to a big "everything under one roof" department store looking for a job.

The Manager says, "Do you have any sales experience?"

The kid says "Yeah, I was a salesman back in Wisconsin."

Well, the boss liked the kid and gave him the job. "You start tomorrow I'll come down after we close and see how you did."

His first day on the job was rough, but he got through it after the store was locked up, the boss came down.

"How many customers bought something from you today?"

The kid says, "One.”

"Just one? Our sales people average 20 to 30 customers a day, how much was the sale for ?"

"$101,237.65."

The boss gapes at this. "$101,237.65? What the heck did you sell?"

The kid says, "First, I sold him a small fish hook then I sold him a medium fishhook then I sold him a larger fishhook then I sold him a new fishing rod. Then I asked him where he was going fishing and he said down the coast, so I told him he was going to need a boat, so we went down to the boat department and I sold him a twin engine Chris Craft then he said he didn't think his Honda Civic would pull it, so I took him down to the automotive department and sold him that 4x4Expedition."

The boss said "A guy came in here to buy a fish hook and you sold him a BOAT and a TRUCK ?"

The kid said "No, the guy came in here to buy tampons for his wife, and I said 'Dude, your weekend's shot, you should go fishing.'

Come to think of it, it made me laugh—until today, when I find myself in the throes of a PMS fit. Not necessarily mean or anything, but borderline weeper. “Hellion, I think you might have a typo in this memo.” And I start blubbering that I never had any talent for writing, and it was just mean and cruel of them to point out how much I suck. Then I take a slice of the Chocolate Truffle Cake I brought and hide in my office.

“Hellion, you’re such a cynic. Your characters are nothing but cynics. Your book needs to show your characters becoming less cynical.” *full blown wail* Am I really that awful? Why is anyone my friend? Who would be friends with a cynic? OMG, I have nothing but pity friends. I’m their charitable cause! *wallowing in her bed, sobbing in her pillow* This is why no one will ever marry me. I’m just not likeable. *sobbing* And because I’m too fat. *eats another piece of cake*

“Hellion, you’re being dramatic. You know we like you.” *Hellion glaring at them and hording the crab rangoon she bought* Yeah, whatever, I know you’re faking, you big fakers. And no, I will not share the crab rangoon. They’re mine!

Tapping Captain Jack’s braids and making him bobble head doesn’t even make me smile. I’m really in the throes of something. Yesterday, Holler told me she couldn’t go to a movie with me tonight—which I had planned for my “birthday”. “I thought the Camelot thing and dinner was your birthday? And we’re having beer and wings Tuesday. For your birthday, you said.” Don’t try to be reasonable. I want something tonight too, damnit. Why don’t you want to hang out with me for my birthday? I got trumped by feral cats and picking up bricks? You don’t like me. You’d rather hang out with feral cats. Fine, if no one wants to hang out with me, I will go to my room and wallow in my blankets and pretend I don’t exist. It’s fine. I’m used to not existing. My parents didn’t want me either. They said I was an accident. It’s fine.