PMS: Nasty business

First Love came over to hang and crash on the couch last night. On the particular episode of Law & Order we were watching, a waitress was wearing a teeny-tiny shirt, prompting First Love to say, "She should NOT be wearing that."

For some reason, probably because I feel fat and bloated and depressed and I probably had a glass or two more of wine than I should have, I kinda sorta lost it in a really big, really insane way. I started going off about how he's a New Yorker now, it makes perfect sense that he should suddenly start developing unrealistic expectations of women. Then I announced I was going to bed and stormed out of the living room.

A related aside: I once had a similar PMS-induced freakout on the ex when he described Thora Birch as full-figured.

Anyway, I woke up this morning and sent a text apologizing. Then I got to work and he made fun of me over IM a bit, which I deserved. Later today, he checked in to see how I was feeling. My response?

Like I want to eat something deep fried and dipped in chocolate sauce. And maybe get in a fist fight.