Hell hath no fury

Hell hath no fury like a woman with PMS. It's that time of the month and I'm in distress. I'm hiding in the bedroom and it's a good thing that the door is latched. My wife poured a gallon of gasoline over my head and lit a match. It's times like these that make me regret that I even know her. When I asked what's for dinner, she came at me with a flamethrower. My head and torso are covered with burns that are third degree. She's trying to chop down the door, somebody please help me! I need somebody's help and I'm prepared to beg. I just jumped out the window and broke my legs. When it comes to my wife's PMS, I never win. I don't mind my injuries just as long as I never see her again. (This is a fictional poem.)