Dear Lord in heaven, Harold be thy name,
My husband is a good and honest man. A righteous man. A man of The Lord.
He doth not deserve to die in a bloodbath of my own making. He doth not deserve mine wrath, for lo, his only crime is leaving the dishrag balled up in a corner of the kitchen sink, where it festers in its own moisture and sprouts bacteria that will surely beget pestilence and leprosy upon this, our home.
That is his only crime. That, and the loud gum chewing that verily reverberates through the halls of Hades and makes my cramps so much worse.
Heavenly Harold, please protect your faithful servant, my fearful husband. Guard his sweet mug from my hormonal outbursts, for he knoweth not what he hath done. For he hath done nothing. He hath not put the toilet seat down.
Like I said, he hath done nothing. Because I have to do everything.
Like a plague of locusts, I have faith that Aunt Flo, too, shall pass. And the heavens and my husband shall rejoice, and I shall rejoin the flock of People Who Are Not Insane. And all shall be well.
In Midol’s name I pray,