Like most men and women, my husband and I don’t always see eye to eye. We naturally interpret things differently, and life experiences sometimes cause us to form opposing opinions. This is hardly ever a problem because as adults, we understand that our personalities won’t always be in sync. The PMS version of Afsana doesn’t get this, though. She views a difference of opinion as an attack on her character. And yes, I am referring to myself in third person. That’s what PMS Afsana does. Deal with it.
I can’t remember what I got my drawers in a bunch about most recently, but it was likely something political since that’s where my husband and I disagree the most (despite standing on the same side of the fence). He made a comment that rocked me to my core, and I started to wonder how I managed to stay married for almost ten years to a man I had absolutely nothing in common with. In reality, we have plenty in common. To PMS Afsana, we are as different as night and day.
After the one-sided spat, I went to our bedroom and flopped down angrily on my side of the bed. I couldn’t recall exactly what I was fuming over but dammit, I was entitled to my anger and I was holding on to it. I turned toward the window, wrapping myself up in a blanket I was determined not to share, no matter how bad my hot flashes got. He could cover up with a pillowcase for all I cared.
My hands were balled up into fists and I was curled in fetal position. I heard the door creak open and ground my teeth, knowing my husband was the only person who would dare enter without knocking. I cringed as I heard his footsteps come closer. Feigning sleep, I held my breath and waited for him to leave the room. Instead, he stood over me for a few seconds. Then he leaned in and pressed a tender kiss to my temple. Suddenly, holding onto my fury was like trying to catch water in a colander. My body relaxed and against my will, a smile crept onto my face. In that moment, even with my PMS symptoms at their zenith, I was reminded of why I fell in love in the first place.