We Ought to Come With Warning Signs.

Oh yes, even without all the necessary equipment and while in the beginning throes of Menopause you can have PMS. I do believe I've discovered the symptoms get worse with this combination or it could just be that I'm enraged and anxious fruitcake material to begin with.

Friday there was this trip to my favorite shopping spot, WalMart, with the hubby AND Zach (I'm a glutton for punishment sometimes folks.) The Chick was also with us, but since she was contained in the pushcart, that went pretty well except for when she opened my wallet/organizer thingy and spilled out about 1500 pennies, $6, credit cards, photos, a million little "notes to self", and various other junk that you can cram into one of those things.

We grabbed the things that we went there for and were only delayed once by someone who wanted to know what we'd been doing since the last time we'd seen them a few months before. I thought for a short time that I was on a roll!

THEN we went to check out. I walked the length of the store by the check-out lanes, while James was checking out the candy choices, to try to find one that was open and didn't have a long line since we had the two kiddies with us (they make those displays to tempt kids at the check-outs you know). I finally found one lane which was both open, and only had one customer ahead of us (never mind that she had a basket piled so high that things were falling off the sides.) And we waited.

And waited.

The lady was using one of those foodstamp card thingies and kept stopping the cashier to have her remove items, then they had to sort things that could be bought with the card and things that couldn't be. Next the card wouldn't scan so they had to wait for a supervisor. Then there wasn't enough credit on the card for all the items and they had to be removed to the things being paid for with cash pile and the cashier turned the light on again for the supervisor. And we waited some more.

After about 15 minutes of the last wait, and no supervisor came, I told the cashier I'd go find a supervisor. She was about 20 steps away over at the courtesy counter where I saw one customer and 3 cashiers and when I asked her if she'd please take care of the problem at our register she told me she'd be there in a few minutes because she was helping a customer.

What??? Was this woman crazy? Did she not see the glow of insanity in my eyes?


After I politely informed her that I had two teens with me who'd been babies when I pushed my cart up to the check-out, and asked her if she was the only supervisor in the whole damned store, she beat me back to the register.

I hate WalMart.

I especially hate WalMart when I am suffering from pms, menopausal, rages.

Then there was yesterday. I had another one of those days when the parts of my brain that control short term memory and muscle and nerve control decided to take a vacation.

First I lost my Dr. Pepper. I could remember taking it from the fridge but from there I reckon it grew legs and made it's way to it's hiding place into the cupboard/pantry because I didn't find it until much later when I went to the cupboard to get the cake fixins and there is sat, all proud of itself, like it was supposed to be there.

THEN there's the cake. The directions are on the box and I've made these danged boxed cakes many, many times in my life so you'd think there was no way to screw it up, right? (I know right about now Special K is laughing her ass off remembering another cake episode). Well if you guessed right, you'd be wrong.

I opened the package of floury stuff and dumped it into the bowl and plugged in the mixer and proceeded to mix the ingredients. The ingredients that only included the cake floury stuff.

After I cleaned up that mess, I put the eggs and water in, measured my oil and proceeded to mix again, and noticed the oil still sitting all measured out and NOT in the cake batter.

I did eventually get the cake made.

Lastly, I had made some chicken salad for a late lunch, early supper when Jerri and the Chick came over to bring some stuff Jerri had picked up for me in town. I guess I was overly excited cause as I took the bowl of chicken salad out of the fridge I sort of dropped it. I was thankful that chicken salad does not have the consistency of mashed potatoes ( I remember how far and wide dropped mashed potatoes can travel) because I only had to clean up a little chicken salad from the floor and fridge and cabinets and most of it stayed in the bowl.

Today I have hopes that nothing comes up that will take any thought or muscular control cause it could be down right dangerous.