The estrogen express

My husband is a manly man. He takes great pride in being the head of the household and he does a great job as a husband and father. I don’t mind deferring to him…but he’s about to be dethroned.

There are three women living in our house.  Any sane man will tell you that is two women too many.  No longer will Mars rule this household because Venus is rising.

Very soon the moods of we women will wear down my stalwart husband and drive him underground into the dark recesses of a male mind hiding behind the sandbag wall of computer games and sports.  This is the season when the head male of the household learns to grunt and retreat, while the lionesses roar…and burst into tears, their emotions in sync, locked together like train cars charging through the night.  It’s the Estrogen Express.

Already, my daughters and I make late night runs to the store for chocolate, the darker the better.  And don’t be thinking about touching that ice cream.  It’s ours.

Oh, we make sure there is some token bucket of ice cream out there for the men folk, but it’s one bucket for the three of them and one for each of us.  And chips.

And yes, we cry.  A good cry never did anyone any harm.  And we don’t have to have a reason for crying.  We just do it.

We also hug.  And we fall over each other cooing and crooning over babies, puppies and kittens because they’re so cute!  Because instinctively we know how precious life is.  We have the capacity to bring forth life.  We have power.

We have cramps.

So stay out of our way.  No, wait!  Make us orange juice and pick us up some headache tablets.  And those other things.  You know, the ones with wings, but not too long, or too thin!  And no perfumes, but make sure there are at least 18 in a pack.

Please don’t grumble.  Just turn up your collar and pull your hat down low and go.  Be back soon.  Thanks for running to the store.

Now let us be.  Let sleeping lionesses lay.  It won’t be long before these days pass and storms gather again, some exploding into thunder and lightning, others passing quicker than you can blink.

Don’t flinch.  We just want to hug you.  We love you.  Really.  You did remember to pick up that magazine and a Crunch bar, right?  Well, did you??  How could you forget!  You don’t love me, do you?

No, that’s okay.  I’m fine.  Really.  Nothing’s wrong.

If you really loved me, you’d know what the matter was.

And so it happens.  The Estrogen Express has run down another man.