I’m going to have to say yes, yes, HELL YES! This is the worst period, free-king period.
Come on, we know you’re about to fold like a card shark now that you’ve put that turkey up for sammiches. Every year you go bat-crap crazy the closer it gets to Christmas. It’s in the air.
Let’s face it, women on their period always ‘ovary act’.
All we can do now is loosen the turnbuckle and go rope-a-dope. And next, you’ll be boohooing for God only knows what reason. And, before that fat bastard hits the sleigh, you’ll be throwing tantrums and babbling about twaddle not even a bilingual psychiatrist and a corpus linguistic could team to comprehend.
Then, you’re going to Holy roll out of bed on D-day – and oh ho how so sickeningly giddy you are now – knowing he had better have wrapped the most expensive small shiny object you’ve ever seen, or he’s dead meat like that ham your mother-in-law is going to chunk on the table at high noon. You’d think we’d wise up and just move out for the next month because this upcoming week’s bloody hell is just the start of the hemorrhaging.