We had an unexpected holiday here yesterday. Mumbai apparently was going to vote.

I was having a confused, confusing day. One that starts in fits and jerks, and maintains that pattern. Through the day, between the few bouts of inspired productivity and attempts to finish all boring housework before the actual weekend commenced, I stole about three naps of differing lengths. Not to mention, the deep sighs. Even as my brain went “WTF was that sigh for?”, I just could not stop myself from sighing again and with greater emotion this time.

We had planned an evening out, because more often than not, not stepping out on a day we didn’t have to go to work is the “stuff losers are made up of” in this house. I really tried to pep myself up. I even showered. Once there, I refused to buy anything. Now the husband was getting concerned. So I tried on a polka dotted blue top, and thought I’d buy it. Then I sighed at the cash counter and momentarily considered not purchasing it. The husband’s skeptical look and the cashier’s swift card swiping ensured no such thing happened.

At dinner, despite being on a steely resolve to ignore all carbs after 6 for the last five weeks, I found myself grabbing the bread basket more than once. After a detailed internal monologue recounting which is making me doubt my mental wellness at the moment, I ordered a pasta dish that I struggled to share with the husband. When the husband – who comes fitted with a sweet jaw – gingerly suggested dessert, I didn’t even hem and haw and quickly jumped to the “yes! but we’ll share it” part. It was dulce de leche ice cream, and I remember licking the spoon and stopping short of licking the cup; I may or may not have completely denied saying I’ll share it.

Back home, I sighed once again and quickly burst into tears. About how nobody loves me anymore. That alarmed the husband alright. Then I went to sleep.

This morning, I could connect the dots backwards with crystal clear retrospection.

To those who may not get this one bit (and that definitely includes all men), issued in public interest: PMS is very real.


5 thoughts on “Vignette

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