PMS - Post Man Syndrome

Boyfriends are like baggy underpants. They are clean and fresh one
minute, but dirty, smelly and right off you the next. Of course,
changing knickers is easier than changing boyfriends. While both become
rancid and crusty with time, knickers can be simply thrown into the
laundry basket to worry about another day. Ex-boyfriends however, are
usually to blame for the torrents of tears and emotional outbursts
women display in public places. Others often diagnose such displays as
PMS. This of course is one hundred percent correct, but what people
don't realise is that PMS has nothing to do with ovulation. PMS is in
fact Post-Man-Syndrome.

Breakups become the root of complex, female analysis. Every word
uttered during a relationship suddenly develops new meaning. Every
sweet whisper, every gentle touch and every sultry look suddenly
signifies undying love and happily-ever-after. You are soulmates,
lovers, friends. It is absolutely beyond comprehension that he doesn't
want you anymore. "How could this have happened?"; "Why didn't I see it
coming?" Self-doubt chews away at your insides like cancer. "What did I
say, what did I do?"; "I thought he loved me."; "I knew I shouldn't
have said that about his mother."

Self-doubt is usually followed by hopeful, straw-clutching illusions.
You would probably be arrested as a stalker if you actually went
through with some of the plans you concoct to "fix" things. You become
crazed and desperate as you fight the onslaught of oestrogen and
adrenalin. You suddenly have an urge to kill your fellow man, or at
least make his life as miserable as possible for as long as it takes to
get over him. You raid his mailbox and destroy the airline tickets he's
booked for himself and his new girlfriend. Why should he take her on a
romantic retreat when he wouldn't so much as take you to the
supermarket? You change the locks on his apartment, even though you
don't live there anymore. Your name is still on the lease afterall, and
the landlord was kind enough to let you in after you "locked yourself
out". You tell his latest squeeze that he has gonorrhoea and that he
doesn't call her "skiddy" because she's a cute skater. Oh yes, revenge
is very, very sweet.

But deep down you know it's over. You know that he won't yearn for you
or re-live every intimate moment you've had over the past three years.
You know he didn't mean it when he said he'd always love you. You know
he's not going to call, even though you sit by the phone and deny
you're doing it. You know he's not going to stop seeing the gorgeous
blonde with the long legs just because she can't possibly know him as
well as you do. Overall the message is simple. Men move on. That's it.
There are no hidden meanings in the past and there are no dark, twisted
motives for your relationship. That "I love you" he told you just last
week comes easily in the cosy darkness, but is forgotten the moment you
want to discuss the future. The BBQ he cooked for your parents last
summer wasn't an engagement anouncement or a plea for parental
approval. It was probably the result of too much testosterone and too
much beer. And he happens to like arguing with your dad about the
cricket. Your dad is a guy too afterall.

Basically men are men and they don't believe in fairytales. If
something gets too hard, they get out. And if it's too hard to get out,
then they somehow manage to make you do their dirty work for them.
First they set the bait -- they ignore you, cheat on you, stomp all
over you until you dump them. You take the bait like a goat in a
laundromat, feeling you have no choice but to walk away. Of course
you'll sob onto your girlfriend's shoulder for the next month or so,
wondering where you went wrong and why he doesn't love you anymore.
You'll be inconsolable, repetitive, psychotic, torturous. You will
drive your friends to the very brink of insanity as they tell you over
and over what an arsehole he is and that you're better off without him.
We've all done it, we've all heard it, we've all said it.

And sometimes we just never learn.