at first I was afraid, I was petrified..

And so it begins. The week when all the women in my life clock in together and I have to work late to save myself.

Between the kid, Mammy2 and the sister in Holland, I don't know how they mange it, but they all PMT together which makes for great fun. Granted the sister is in Holland, although she can still get her PMT through the email , she sends it as an attachment you see.
You double click and voila, emotions.com.

Yesterday , there I was , working away, doing handovers etc for when I finish and the phone rings and its the kid. She was off yesterday and so Mammy2 left her some English to work on. She ranted down the phone about how Mammy2 had hung up on her and she can't do the English and its all crap and she's going to fail her junior, etc, etc.

I spoke with Mammy2 and found out that the kid had been screaming down the phone at her about English, the merchant of Venice and anything else she cared to rant about. Ah, PMT , how I love thee.

Of course, we were wary of arriving home. The clouds gathering over our apartment block should have alerted us to the maelstrom developing, but we were feeling rather brave and so entered the Hellmouth. She looked innocent enough, doing her maths and watching Charmed. Then her head spun around as soon as we entered the apartment.

"What are we having for dinner,I'm starving and I don't want any of that crap that's in the presses. We're stuck in food rut and we need to get out of it."
No sign of her turning blue. We took a deep breath and explained that the food we had in the presses, of which there was plenty of options was the only thing we would be cooking. A roll of the eyes followed and I felt sure someone in the StatOil across the way got whiplash from it.

She eventually settled on one thing, cocktail sausages. Yes, I know, a very healthy dinner, you wanna drop around to ours and cook for her. I was in two minds about going training. By the time she'd decided what she wanted for dinner, I was in my gear and on my way to the Luas
leaving Mammy2 to deal with the Apocalypse.

Training was great, except I may never be able to move my shoulders again. I was partnered with this ridiculously fit young fella with shoulders to die for. Ovulation or nearing ovulation = men with big shoulders. He could carry at least 3 small kids on one arm and still bring home an ox with the other. He was feckin Robocop, I mean, after the warm-up, it was all leg work and punches, so many punches, at one stage I had to pick my arm up from the far side of the gym where he sent it. He was very nice though, even bending down so my kicks looked normal height.

Well, he was a good foot or so taller then me. I had assumed because he was in the green/brown belt section that he was obviously training from another club, but no. Nearing the end, literally , I was going to ask him to call 911, I could not kick any more. My legs refused to work and do
you think he was tired. Not to gink, a bit of sweat down one side of his face and that was it.
To add insult to injury when we all lined up, he was at the back in the beginners line. He has to be from another club, no beginner can throw kicks like that, or so I keep telling myself.

I was convinced when I came home that there would be 2 bodies in the apartment with no survivors. However, she came out for the drive with Mammy2 to pick me up and they were fine, no sign of any war wounds.

Maybe I won't have to work late all this week!