Posts
Maggie (pregnant), to Michael, driving home from dinner and coffee out:
You know, the more I go through life, the more I realize that women wrongfully blame their hormones for all of their shortcomings. "Oh, I'm a teenage girl, it's my hormones . . . ehhh, I got my period, it's my hormones . . . oooh, I got married and la da da, my hormones are changing . . . eeeh, sex, my hormones . . . oh shoot, I got pregnant, now my hormones are really changing . . . oh, look, I have menopause, now I don't even have hormones." Shut up. Get over it. Every woman has hormones, it's a fact of life, just deal with it and move on. Why make the rest of the world suffer because you have hormones that you've had your whole life and that every woman before you has had and complained about? You're no different. Just suck it up already, we get it, and I'm tired of hearing you complain it about all the livelong day. Can't handle your hormones? Join the club! Neither can the rest of us. But the rest of us do, and do you think we like it? I realize that we have hormones but I don't see how it's right to pin every single one of our daggone problems on them. Men don't do it, why should you? I mean, half the world's population's got the hormones.
Michael: Actually, men have hormones too.
Maggie: Exactly. But you don't talk about hormones when you get together.
Michael: Well, we talk about your hormones.
Maggie: Yeah, well, you're lucky, 'cause well every time we get together it's "my hormones did this" and "my hormones caused that to happen" and "look what my hormones did to me." I'm so sick and daggum tired of the whole hormonal scapegoat. You know what I mean? DO YOU?
Michael: Oh yeah.
Maggie: I mean, I don't think it's a valid excuse to bite someone's head off just because you have hormones. I don't blame it on my hormones, and you don't let me blame it on my hormones. If I bite someone's head off, you let me know it. I can't stand that some women will do that to their husbands, I mean, you never have to put up with my hormones.
Pause.
This is the—perfect—latte. I mean it. Mmm. Hands down, best vanilla latte I have ever had. AND it's decaf.
Michael: Good, I'm glad you like it.
Maggie, laughing: Sometimes you have to put up with my hormones. Stops laughing. But when my hormones come out, you shut 'em right up, right back up into the box they came in. Send 'em back.
Pause.
You don't actually call me on my hormones very often. Only when it's bad.
Michael: I don't really need to. You do a good job on that. Usually I just have to wait for the echo of what you're saying to come back to you, and you take care if it yourself.
Maggie: Aw, honey, I love you. Michael, I am not kidding. This is the BEST latte I have EVER HAD. I don't know how they do it.
Michael: It's Starbucks.
Maggie: I really don't know how they do it. They just blame everything on their hormones, well whoop-de-do, my hormones caused this, that, and bag of chips, well la di da da, yours and mine both, so stop blaming everything on your dang hormones.
Michael, pulling into the driveway: Well, that was fun—
Maggie: Honey, this was SUCH a fun night, the whole thing. Thanks so much for dinner. And the latte.
Michael: Yeah, thank you, that was fun.
Maggie: Other wives don't have this much fun. And they probebly blame it on their dang hormones. Women.
Exeunt.
