I’ve always been somewhat of a late bloomer. I hit puberty late, I didn’t have my first boyfriend until I was in college, and menopause? Not a sign of it. No hot flashes. No irregular periods, nothing. Now I want to stay young just as much as the next guy, but seriously? I’m 56. Granted my mom was 57, so there is a certain inevitability to the course my body is going to take. I suppose I could be all zen and express gratitude for all my body has done and apparently continues to do, the amazing journey we take and the changes that creep up on us even though we still feel 30. But I think I’ll just be all PMS-y and pissy about it instead. Last night, I started to get the cranky tremors that foretell disaster while shopping with my husband. The escalator up to Old Navy isn’t working? “Mutter, mutter, #%^*#… lazy …stupid…”. I can’t get Wi-Fi in Costco? “@#%^! Stomp, Stomp. So, what made me think hooking up a new TV was a good idea? Well, maybe it was the “Texas”- sized margarita at Dallas BBQ. Maybe it was my thirst for adventure. Regardless, it was not a wise decision. I couldn’t understand the instructions, it appeared I needed a cable I had to buy separately, there was no signal, so what did I do? I had a “Texas”-sized melt down. My husband tried to talk me down, but I was too far gone, screaming and sobbing and carrying on until finally, I sat down at the computer and had a nice chat with Skyler at Samsung who helped me get it working. Why didn’t I do that first? It’s not my fault, it’s PMS! I can’t control myself! Enough, already. I’m 56…I’m not gonna be able to use that excuse forever. People are just not going to believe it.