Dr Jekyll and Ms Hyde

Sometimes I think it is a wonder that once a month, like clockwork,  I experience what can only be referred to as 'Dr Jekyll and  Ms Hyde syndrome' and yet every time it happens, I've forgotten it's due.

This is why it takes me a couple of minutes, at least, to put my finger on why the hell I just shouted the F word down the phone to Himself before hanging up after he questioned my choice of shower gel/felt my eyes well up after a frantic cupboard search revealed I had eaten the last of my airport toblerone the night before/keep avoiding my mother's calls/ had a half-hour crying fit for absolutely no reason whatsoever and/or inhaled two plates of chilli con carne in the space of 5 minutes and then decided to put on some toast.

Take your pick because the list of crimes is endless but I am pleading diminished responsibility for each and every one for as far as I can see, it is beyond my control. It is such an infuriating cliche when men blame a woman's emotions on 'that time of the month'. And it is just as much of a cliche for us women to add fuel to the fire when we use said 'time of the month' as an excuse for the appearance of Dr Jekyll's worst half. The disturbing truth is that the Ms Hyde within us girls who rears her ugly head once a month may very well be more a part of our everyday personality than we care to admit.

Most women suffer some sort of side effects when 'Aunt Flo' rolls into town. For some, it's painful cramps and for others, such as myself, it's horrific mood swings.  I'm not kidding. My bad mood will literally swing for whatever unfortunate soul happens to be nearest at the time. Himself refers to me as 'Rage' during this time, and is learning to identify the warning signs, but not fast enough for my liking to be honest.  He will still enter a danger zone topic with the most innocent of intentions, oblivious to my now monstrous green face and glowing red eyes as I slowly make the transformation as he rambles on.

It's like when you turn into a vampire (yes, my personal experience of this is limited I will admit, but I have watched enough Buffy and Vampire Diaries to get the drill)  and all your senses are heightened - love, hate, fear, etc. Or when werewolves make the change on a full moon and have to lock themselves up so they don't hurt anyone. OK, enough with the Twilight obsession.

It's not a bed of roses being a woman sometimes and finding a way to deal with Aunt Flo, without succumbing to the emotional side effects of her visit, can be tricky. All I'm saying is if there was a free five-star spa we girls could check into for a day or two once a month during that trying time for that little bit extra TLC, Ms Hyde may never see the light of day and all men could sleep easier in their beds at night. Period.

Those were the days...

THIS evening I arrived home from work (which tends to be a feat in itself these days involving a 20-minute power walk, a 50-minute train ride, and a 15-minute cycle ride) to find a large package (oo-er!) on my bed. Yes, it's exactly what you think it is... the Dawson's Creek boxset I ordered online had finally arrived. Now, you can spend the next few minutes rating my lameness on a scale of one to ten OR you can own up and confess to your own teenage TV love affairs.

Tonight, watching Dawson, Joey and co battle with their teenage angst, transported me back in time to when I was 14 and used to watch the series every Thursday night, informing my parents not to interrupt the next hour as if I missed Joey's declaration of love for Dawson or Pacey's witty one-liner, their lives wouldn't be worth living. The boxset arriving today was perfect timing to complete my journey back to puberty, as it is helped on its way by the massive spot that took up residence on my face just hours before. 14 all over again, I swear.

But even watching Dawson's Creek won't make me a teenager again. Reality is too quick to bite. Work, bills and grappling with adult relationships is a world away from the Creek. Plus Dawson's hair is just too painful to watch for too long anyway. I'm 27 now. Katie Holmes is married to Tom Cruise and Michelle Williams is about to win her first oscar for My Week With Marilyn. A lot has changed in the last 13 years, in their lives and in mine, but it's comforting to have physical memories, often in the form of a much-loved teen series or that particular Eighties song, to bookmark the different chapters in our lives.

Oh, and in case you were wondering, I was, and still am, Team Pacey ;p