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This means that I want:
• Fritos corn chips (the Originals, none of that barbecue shit for this Gal).
• A drip that keeps sugary, caffeine-laden Coca-Cola (Coke Classic, nothing else will do for this Gal) coursing through my veins 24/7.
• Everyone to leave me alone; except for attractive men, who I would desperately like to do me -- and then immediately go away.
• To know why everyone is leaving me alone. Can't they see I'm suffering here?
A rough calculation reveals that, over my lifetime, I have endured
more than six months of PMS. There's no real end in sight, either. It's simply unfair! (Although with time, it's gotten a little better. I no longer get angry red zits you could sell ad space on, and cramps are only a once-in-a-while occurrence.)
All of this explains why right now, of all human beings who have ever walked the earth (and that includes Hitler, Yoko Ono and Steve Bartman), the one I hate the most is Oscar Hammerstein II. I swear, if he hadn't died in 1960, I would track him down and slap him for writing:
When I have a brand new hairdo
With my eyelashes all in curl,
I float as the clouds on air do,
I enjoy being a girl!
When men say I'm cute and funny
And my teeth aren't teeth, but pearl,
I just lap it up like honey
I enjoy being a girl!
When men say I'm sweet as candy
As around in a dance we whirl,
It goes to my head like brandy,
I enjoy being a girl!