The eternal struggle of PMS through the medium of emojis

When PMS really stands for ‘Please Message Sympathetically’…

Your period doesn’t announce its arrival with trumpets or an Instagram post. Instead, it lets you know what’s going on downstairs by making you feel like a small alien is tap dancing on your uterus.

Or like an army of ants (who are truly terrible at darts) is playing a continuous game of round-the-clock darts inside your lady parts.

Or as if a tiny dormouse is intent on stabbing you with a tiny knife, every time you get lulled into a false sense of security and think the painful part is over. Every time.

You briefly consider calling an ambulance, but you’re not sure if 999 would take you seriously.

And really you’d much rather die here, surrounded by soft furnishings and a wifi connection.

Plus, you’ve got enough wind to provide power to most of East Anglia.

And your poo is more… dynamic than normal.

So it’s probably a good idea to stay near the loo, in case *something* needs to make an emergency exit.

You wonder if you can take the day off school, because you never want to leave the house again.

Plus, people are outside, and you hate people.

Besides, the people inside your house are your family, so you’re allowed to shout at them and they’ll still have to love you. It’s science. Or something.

And all you want to do is eat your body weight, plus the body weight of your entire extended family in delicious food.

You’re hungry for carbs.

And cheese.

And chocolate.

And you want to eat them all in the bath.

Even if a bath requires getting out of bed, which is, quite frankly, a ridiculous idea. A bed is your safe place. Bed is your palace. Bed is life.

One moment, you’re fine. The world’s wonderful and everything’s funny; pineapples are funny, big earrings are funny, even pigeons are funny.

Then you realise that somewhere along the way, you’ve gone from laughing-crying to full on Titanic weeping.

You wonder *why* you’re crying over a not-particularly-good advert for washing up liquid, then suddenly you realise…

But it can’t be, not yet!

You’ve only just put your nice pants back in rotation!

We have a code red. A code red, people!

@LilyPesch

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