You Won't Believe What I Ate Last Night...

Last night I ate a stock cube. Seriously. And not one of those small Maggi ones, either. I ate a giant, squishy Massel chicken stock cube, straight out of the wrapper. It was horrible. I mean, chicken stock is great in soups and casseroles, but pretty gross by itself on a fork. But I couldn't help it. I was craving that stock cube like the deserts crave the rain. (Except that the stock cube also made me crave rain. Or at least water.)

Now, the obvious conclusion to reach is that I am pregnant. And when I am pregnant I do crave strange foods. When I was pregnant with my son I bought so many spinach and feta pastries from the local baker every day (three to four, to be precise) that I became too fat embarrassed to go into the store, and had to learn how to make my own.

However, I am certain I am not pregnant. This is because:

1. My kitchen has been surgically closed;
2. I am not nauseous and dizzy and weeping for no reason at all;
3. See number 1.

No, I am not pregnant. In fact, I am as far as one can get from pregnancy without being menopausal. I am craving weird foods not because I am pregnant, but because I am not.

Yes, once gain PMS rears up its ugly head. It happens all the time. Once a month, actually. Every. Single. Bloody. Month.

I don't need to keep a chart of my menstrual cycle because I know exactly where I am based on the foods I am craving. Early in my cycle I eat my normal, boring diet. When I am ovulating I become quite extraordinarily hungry, and need about seventeen meals a day (at least three of which are based on chocolate). Clearly, my body is preparing for a potential baby by packing in enough energy in three days to last me nine months. Clearly, my body is stupid.

Mmmm.... DINNER

And then I hit PMS, and I head down to the salt mines. Oh yes. Salt salt salt salt. I eat stock cubes and drink cup-a-soup and eat Vegemite with a spoon. I chomp on Feta and swallow olives and ask for extra anchovies in my salad. And I get fluid retention and grumpy as hell and turn to alcohol to ease the pain.

You'd be in pain too if you'd been eating stock cubes.

So next time you are grumpy with PMS and cursing your hormonal surges, spare a thought for me. I am sitting at my kitchen bench eating stock cubes washed down with gin and tonic. It ain't pretty.

What does PMS look like for you?