I think the vomityness yesterday may have been due to a new batch of hormones arriving on a virgin train, shuttle bus, interstellar rocket or something else very fast and capable of carrying many people. I was really evil all day yesterday. *someone* (for the sake of anonymity well just call her "Madam") drove me up the wall without even doing anything much. I was conducting a conversation from a distance because everyone was smoking, and I commented that I could really fancy a fag (as in cigarette, not homosexual male). Madam said "bugger off, you don't want one really. Besides, you're getting a baby..." and for some reason I chose to sarcastically lay into her about how "Yeah, GETTING a baby, its not like I'm noticing that I'm pregnant or anything, it's not like my whole life has changed already, and it's not like I'm going to have to go through horrible pain and tearing to get the baby out of my body. No, babies just magically appear. I'm GETTING a baby..." No excuse, but I did feel really rough all day yesterday and I was knackered...but still. Then, later, Madam was talking to another of our friends and she said "we're having a baby!" to which I replied "No. I'M having a baby. It's MY baby. I have no sense of humour about MY baby."
And it gets worse.
Alex picked me up from uni, took me to sainsburys, bought my shopping for me...came home, he made me a cup of tea and told me to sit down while he did the washing up (all stuff he hadn't used, as he's on the not eating, milkshake diet again) and offered to make me dinner. He then sat down and stroked my legs while I fell asleep in front of the tv. Sounds perfect, doesn't it? MY HORMONES SAY NO!!!!! I AM MENTAL!!!
Later, we were all set to go to bed and I was getting undressed. I chucked my top at the washing basket from the other side of the room...but it missed and fell on the floor. This is where it gets ridiculous. I walked over to pick up my top, and noticed that Alex had put his clothes on top of the basket, instead of in it. (Bear in mind that I had only just a few seconds before thrown my top at the basket, with no intention of putting it inside.)
"Alex, are you incapable of putting your clothes inside the basket?"
Alex looked at me with a tired and bewildered expression...I decided he didnt understand, so continued with the rant.
"For Gods sake, it's like living with a teenage boy. You just can't clean up after yourself, can you? You're going to have to start doing more round here...blah blah rant rant blah blah rant."
Luckily he's learnt to just laugh at me...much respect to Alex for coping with it all. Although, once in bed I was about to set off on another rant and he hugged me (wisely pinning my arms to my sides in the process) and instructed me to "put the hormones away for five minutes. Please." which for some reason made me laugh. It's no wonder he's going grey.