The Dangers of Hormone Imbalance

It all started with some serious PMT that had reduced me to tears as I read my friend’s sample wedding invitation. “Believe me, if all those endearing young charms, which I gaze so fondly today, were to change by tomorrow, and fleet in my arms, like fairy-gifts fading away, thou wouldst still be adored...” It was all so loving and hopeful.

I thought of Accountant’s endearing young charms – or at least I tried to, but images of his ridiculously loud and excessive nose blowing and inane whistling pierced my romantic bubble prior to inflation. And the way he pressed the ‘information’ button whenever I was watching something on telly so I missed it all. Not to mention his ‘digestive’ troubles...

Not endearing and thou wouldst be adored much more if all those young charms changed tomorrow. That said, I felt the stirrings of inspiration and set about reacquainting myself with all of Accountant’s long lost fairy-gifts.

To charm out the charms, I did something I personally considered hugely magnanimous. I popped my last Thornton’s cappuccino chocolate into Accountant’s lunch box, which, short of donating a lung, was about as grand a gesture as I could ever bestow on anyone.
In an office far away, the sweet fluffy centre of the best coffee truffle available in Europe, didn’t even graze a taste bud as it was swallowed whole. The email I received at 13:56 simply said, “Thanks for the choccie”.

“Thanks for the choccie!” It wasn’t just a ‘choccie’! It was a luxury aromatic coffee and double cream truffle swirl, sprinkled with ground Brazilian beans. And it was my favourite. And my last one.

I felt disheartened and much the same as years before when I’d discovered all the greeting cards I’d ever given him heaped in the rubbish bin.

Naturally, when he arrived home, I was sulking. Naturally, he had absolutely no idea why.

“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing!” I replied.

He went to watch football. I sulked some more before realising I couldn’t educate my husband on his shortcomings silently. I reappeared in the doorway.

“Do you remember when you threw my cards away?”
“Did I?”
“Yes” I confirmed, setting my face to ‘how could you’.
“Is that why you’re upset?”
“No, this is about charms.”
“Charms?” He looked more confused than ever.
“Yes, and chocolate”
“I said thank you for the chocolate”.

I wondered how to phrase that, whilst technically he was correct, it hadn’t been the right kind of thank you nor had he grasped the deeper message of my cappuccino-truffle-fairy-gift. By the time I had formulated my thoughts, Accountant was shouting at the TV. Convinced that true romance could never be mine, I trudged up to bed, sniffing loudly.

At half time, he stood before me with a glass of water and some maximum strength Evening Primrose capsules.

“Perhaps you shouldn’t come off them again?” he suggested softly.
I nodded, deciding I adored him after all.