WARNING: THIS POST CONTAINS A LOT OF OVER-SHARING
This weekend I was hormonal, cramping, cranky and trying to do a million things at once. My poor boyfriend, The Boy, puts up with me at my irritable, stressed-out worse and I have no idea why. He's clearly a masochist. He also spends all the time trying to calm me down, reason with me and reassure me. He knows better, but that doesn't stop him. We walked around Camden, me getting more wound up by the tourists and their annoying habit of stopping dead in the middle of the street with no warning, and the fact I couldn't find anything I liked in my size, and when I did find a few little gorgeous things I might have bought, there was no one around to pay the money to. He patiently looked at dozens of dresses, pairs of earrings, dinky little necklaces, bags, shoes, random trinkets, without complaint. When I became even more irrational, and crazy, due to my period being particularly heavy this month and not really being in the right frame of mind to be out and about; the lovely man I fell in love with, just kept telling me I was beautiful, that he loved me the way I am, and the way I want to be, and attempted to talk me down off my ledge.
Then he took me home. Let me sit on the couch and read my magazine, while he put up a shelf and tinkered around before we went out to eat and meet some friends for drinks (on a school night, shocking!).
I still, even after all this time, don't fully understand what he sees in me. I'm clearly mentally deranged (at least for a few days every month) and irrational, bad-tempered, selfish, spoilt and just plain impossible to live with (my parents would agree). Yet for some reason, this kind, handsome, funny, lovely man keeps spending his time with me, trying to get me to smile, laugh, not worry so much.
Sometimes he reads this blog, I'm still not sure I want him too, but baby, if you're reading it now, I love you. Thank you for putting up with my moods and craziness.