Husbands, Frogs, Sex, Cold Beers and Darwin

I want to be helpless like the Angel’s of this world.

People fall over themselves to meet her needs and remove the little flurry of angst that threatens to wrinkle her perfectly arched brow.

Now that the gas cap has been successfully turned in the correct direction it can indeed be removed.

Phew.

I am a multi tasking wonder. If I am not doing at least three things simultaneously I must be lapsing into a coma.

Or PMS-ing.

Premenstrual in it’s long form.

Understandable, though it is, why they shortened it to the abrupt, PMS form.

Premenstrual sounds too much like fun.

Minstrels were those wandering, random musicians of the Middle Ages and I can verify with conviction, (just the one and I swear I don’t remember picking up the knife) as can my husband and son, that there is nothing fun or musical about being Premenstrual.

However, during those other 2 days a month I am a Multi Tasking phenom.

Stand back I can handle all.

Everything.

Et el.

Men have lost the capability as well as the need, to multi task, due to our due diligence as women.

We swoop and jump in, negating any need or forethought on their part what so ever, with our bowls of tortilla chips, scooped up laundry, cold beers, immaculate housekeeping and goddess like sex offerings.

Which works really well except on those days when we are lapsing into a coma or PMS-ing.

On those days we would like very much for them to be able to pick up the slack.

Or at the very least, their underwear and socks.

Hello Darwin?

I want to turn back the hands of evolution.

Please.