Skinnamarinky Dinky Dink, Skinnamarinky Doo, I Love You...

There's a new car commercial on TV where some dad is de-mommifying his car by removing all the baby-oriented things from it to hit the town with his male friends for the evening. They hit the road and he turns the radio on and the theme (words of which are used as the title of my blog today) to The Elephant Show plays. Any of my older brothers and sisters will vouch for me when I say that I know all the words to this song because as a child I probably saw every single episode of the show. Twice. And they were there (forcibly) to enjoy it with me. Ah, nostalgia.
On with the day. Today I did, well, not much. The dishes in the dishwasher are clean now and there is a pound of homemade peanut butter stored safely in the refrigerator for my dear hubby to enjoy at his leisure, but other than that, I've decided to be lazy. Partly because I'm in a state of melancholy dreading that blasted "D" word again and partly because my menstrual cycle is around the corner and my back and pelvis feel like someone is running them through an old hand-washer and wringer. Pleasant, hmm? Thanks for that, by the way, Eve. Good job eating the apple. Had it not been for you, I'd be free of this pain and the pain of child birth. All the other fruit in the garden and you picked the one that not only isn't even that tasty but the one God specifically said "Hey, don't eat this" about.
My hubby picks on me, lovingly and jokingly, and asks if my cramps are really as bad as I say. All the women on my side of the family will attest to the fact that our cramps are especially bad. It might have something to do with all the feminine reproductive issues on our side of the family, or maybe somewhere in our lineage someone ticked off a gypsy and we're cursed for the rest of our days. Anyway, his jokes and prods are in love, but it makes me wonder how men would truthfully handle an entire week of feeling like their insides are tied in knots, bleeding heavily from the same place they pee, not being able to enjoy sex and being over emotional and on the verge of tears at any moment. Can you imagine Peyton Manning bursting into tears over a bad play? That wouldn't go over well.
I'm off to hide under a blanket on the couch with the dog and watch Jeopardy.

<3s
Fae