There's a big bowl of pistachio shells on my desk. I love pistachios. There’s something so satisfying about snapping them open and seeing a GREEN nut. And they’re salty, which makes them irresistible, especially at certain times of the month.

Of course, read any article on PMS and it will tell you to avoid salt, sugar, and caffeine in order to minimize symptoms like bloating, headaches and moodiness. In other words, just as every cell in your body is calling for the dark chocolate or the bag of Doritos (or both, God forbid), you’re supposed to deny yourself all that and expect to FEEL BETTER.

Oh yeah. Medical science fails women again. If you have a PMS Bitch and take away her morning coffee, afternoon chocolate, and one-night-stand with the Doritos bag, in the end you’re not going to have a NICE woman, you’re going to have a freakin’ psychopath.

Trust me: an ordinary bitchy woman is less of a threat to world peace, human health, and the people she loves if you just GIVE HER WHAT SHE WANTS. So I say, “Girlfriends, when your inner bitch rears her ugly head, break out a big bar of dark chocolate and don’t let anyone make you feel guilty about devouring it. Honey, you are SAVING civilization with every bite. You go girl! Everybody say ‘Amen!’”

Bibical history has it that menstruation was the curse Eve pulled down on womankind after she led Adam into sin. Sisters we ALL know that Adam went into sin all by his sorry little self, and Eve, establishing a pattern that would dog women for the rest of recorded history, covered for him.

“Oh yeah, God, it was ME, it was ALL MY FAULT he screwed up. Don’t be mad at Adam, he couldn’t help himself—I served him forbidden fruit! I’m such a jerk. He was just trying to be nice, joining me for a romantic little picnic out here in the garden!”

Uh-huh, uh-huh. I’m not buying that line for a minute! That story in Genesis is so lame—I mean c’mon, what kind of woman takes advice from a viper that LOOKS like a viper. None! We know better! But give us a viper in the shape of a man with six-pack abs, dark curly hair, deep blue eyes, and a sheepish smile, and DAMN, we’ll do ANYTHING for him—even disobey the Creator of the Universe. DUH! I'm convinced the children's bible pictures got it right: Eve was a blond.

Hang on a sec while I get some more pistachios and crack open another Coke. There now--all better--now where was I? Oh yeah, the first dumb blond who gave all subsequent blonds a bad name. Another curse on our heads (pun intended, y’all).

While medical scientists have never been able to figure out exactly WHY women menstruate, it’s been pretty easy for me to figure out why we have PMS. There’s been research done that shows women are perceived as more attractive when they’re fertile. When the egg drops, we all send out “a love me glow,” and through some metaphysical mystery, for a few days we attract men as easily as Jessica Simpson.

PMS, of course, follows this happy interlude and has the opposite effect. PMS shouts to the world—“Back away from this woman! Not suitable for breeding! We repeat, she is not suitable for breeding” PMS does this by adding five ugly pounds of water weight to our middles, making our pants grab us in all the wrong places, which in turn drives us to wear floppy gray sweatpants that are oh-so-flattering (NOT!). In case that doesn’t turn off the males of the species, our faces break out in angry red zits that make us look like we’re carrying an infectious plague. But if there are wonderful, rational men out there who still love us anyway, all we have to do is open our big moody mouths and snap their sweet little heads off. As heads roll across the floor, the message becomes perfectly clear: “Back off! Not suitable for breeding! Do not attempt to reproduce her DNA!”

The bad thing is that as I cruise through my 40s, PMS dominates my monthly calendar. This is because in mid-life, PMS not only stands for “pre-menstrual syndrome,” it also stands for “pre-menopause syndrome.” This is why I’m becoming a little BATTY (Bitchy All The Time Y’all). I’m caught in a riptide of fluctuating estrogen, and it’s making me crazy.

There is however, a cure for this, if only I could find it on a store shelf. What we need, Sisters, are Premarin M & Ms—pretty little pieces of dark chocolate laced with estrogen. Have you ever wondered if M & M really stands for Menstruation and Menopause? Are those bright little discs The Cure for The Curse? I have seen an awful lot of middle-aged women under their spell. They could be our salvation.

I’m convinced that when Jesus arrives in the Second Coming, he’s going to be passing out the estrogen M & Ms to all the women--even the blonds! And with divine M & Ms melting in our mouths, world peace will come again and men and women will all live happily ever after. Now that’s something to look forward to—that and some more pistachios.

September 2, 2005