PMS

For no reason, your mood swings from a cheerful high to an unceremonious splat.

Just like that; no warning sirens of the impending bloodshed and no flashing signs screaming "Watch out, woman unaware of stick up her arse". Nada. Zilch. One second you're smiling, the next second everything unfolds and the domino tiles begin to fall one by one.

Everything everyone says or do annoys you. Your body is tense and becomes more defensive by the minute. That salon-shaped eyebrow rises higher and higher and that frown is unmistakable. The crash is inevitable.

Your hormones are singing wildly. Up and up, it reaches the highest pitch shattering everything around you to unrecognizable pieces. In slow motion, you see the horrified faces, the unsheathing of swords and the raising of shields as they try to ward off your female steam. But all is futile; you've lost control of your emotions and your ovaries are doing their wicked dance. In the distance, you can hear the witches cackle as they fly off on their broomsticks, elated that they have once again inspired the witch within.