Sunday, 17 May 2009

• PMS

              I was PMS’ing.  That was all.

              A co-worker had redesigned my previously submitted drawn plan for the Art Festival, changing everything around.  And she brushed aside my objections.  A little frustrating, sure, but not worth tears.  Yet I had to blink one back.

              One tear, just one.  I didn’t even shed it.  Just blinked it back.  Oh, and a wobbly note entered my voice.

              The next thing I knew, chaos reigned.  At various points in the next hour, five different teachers came in to see if I "wanted to talk".  Since they didn’t believe my teary “I’m fine” responses, I asked them to give me space.

              Five minutes before I was supposed to leave, the head teacher walked in with the drawing and the offending co-worker in tow.  An emergency meeting had been called.

              Usually, I’m loath to use the phrase PMS.  First, it’s private.  If you have hemrrhoids making you uncomfortable and irritable, I don’t need to know about it.  Likewise, if my chemicals are zigzagging around in preparation of an oncoming river of red, you don’t need to know about it.  Also, too many people – especially men – accept any outrageous behavior if the magical letters of P.M.S. are swiveled in front of them.

              Usually, I just cast about for an excuse.  And, really, there’s rarely a point in your life where there’s absolutely no underlying stress.  Earlier, I tried feebly explaining that I was frustrated about the way things keep changing – like who’s in charge of making plans.

              Frustrated.  Yea, that should work.

              Except it hadn’t.  The first person I used that lame excuse on waived it off, telling me I should talk to the head teacher about this, who could explain everything to me.  Though the person hadn’t said that pearl of wisdom so concisely.  It had taken at least five minutes.  Probably ten.  This convinced me that I wanted to jump out of the lame excuses sea and simply assure everyone “I’m fine”.

              Neither of which would work now.  Not with the head teacher, not in an emergency meeting.  So I gave up antiquated politeness and just used the magical letters.  PMS.

              “Yes, but what is the underlying problem?” asked the head teacher.

              The next five minutes involved her searching for answers – how’s my transition to Singapore?  any problems at home?  anything going wrong? – while I alternated between using the three letters and repeating “Sometimes, I just get overly emotional.  I feel fine, but I look sad.  I’m fine, really.  Everything’s okay.”

              She interrupted me one of the times I was going off on my “sometimes, I’m overly emotional” renditions.  “Is it… you know… before menstruation?”

              I looked up, surprised.  I thought we had covered that with the often-repeated phrase "PMS".  With other teachers, I might’ve tried explaining it a few ways, but English is the only language the head teacher speaks.  I assumed she knew the phrase "PMS".  “Yes,” I responded simply.

              It was decided we could wait until Monday to have the emergency meeting.
  

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