hormonal eating

Heh.  I visited my mother this morning.  After getting home at 2pm, I was hungry.  So I ate a bun loaded up with breakfast marmalade (mmmm, tangy sweetness!), a piece of carrot cake, and some chocolate.

Sorry, did I hear somebody mumble ‘premenstrual!’?

Yes, it’s true.  I am roaming the house like a monkey on crack, searching for carbohydrates.  Preferably delivered through sugar.  And shaking.  And my boobs hurt.  Still, I’m in a great mood, until an RSPCA ad makes me cry.  Ah yes, the joy of hormonal disturbances.

The best part is, I get to share them with my husband.  He’s the one who comes into the kitchen to find me eating brown sugar with a spoon, straight from the jar.  He’s the one who has to avoid the mood swings – luckily for him, when things go really bad, he has very sharp ducking reflexes.  He’s the one who has to try to cheer me up when Lassie Come Home is on of a Sunday afternoon, and I cry when Lassie is lost, and then when Lassie does indeed come home.

The strange thing is, the rest of the month, I couldn’t care less what I do or don’t eat.  I’m the person who gets the same thing for lunch every single day because as long as I know I like it, I don’t need variety.  I could easily be eating the same lunch in five years’ time.  So when I go absolutely crazy for a few days each month hunting down every available carb, it’s just really bizarre.

Anyhow, enough rambling.  There’s a chocolate mud cake in the fridge which I need to liberate from its icy prison.  Ciao!