I HAVE COME UP WITH THE SOLUTION TO EVERY SINGLE PROBLEM EVER

My solution?

A pink t-shirt that says "I Have PMS".

These t-shirts would be distributed free of charge to any woman who ever asked for one anywhere at anytime.

Because ... and here's some info you ladies may just want to store in the back of your brain somewhere ... if us guys KNEW you were PMSing, 99% of us would back off and/or treat you like queens for the next 3-5 days.

Here's the deal, ladies.

When you're PMSing, you look perfectly normal to us guys.

Believe it or not, we don't notice water retention.

The only clue we have to your reluctant embracing of the PMS is the fact that once a month you wake up and think that men are the most ignorant species on the planet and the only way to make us smarter is to yell, yell, yell at us at the tops of your dainty little lungs.

Here's an example:

Let's say your husband calls you and asks if you'd be interested in meeting him for lunch and you agree.

And let's say that it's a Tuesday morning in mid-March in Alabama. Ohhhh ... I'm just being hypothetical here.

And you leave work and drive to the restaurant and somebody's had a wreck on the highway and everyone's slowed down because everyone always likes to stop and look at the carnage no matter how minor it can be and you arrive at the restaurant three minutes later than you expected to.

And let's say that your husband greets you at the front door of the restaurant and says something totally ignorant like "Hey baby! How's your day been?"

And how DARE HE greet you like that!

WHAT ARE YOU?!? SOME KINDA PIECE OF MEAT?!?

So you burst into tears and call him an asshole.

Now ... at this point ... guess what?

The husband has NO IDEA that you're PMSing.

His first reaction is "What the hell is wrong with this insane bitch? What happened to the sweet little gal I married 18 years ago on April 9th?"

... Hypothetically, of course ...

And from here, the lunch goes sour.

The salad doesn't have enough dressing even though you asked for just "a little" dressing.

The chicken is too dry and the pasta's too firm.

The ice in your drink is "too cold".

And your husband sits there and wonders quietly what the hell's wrong with you until it dawns on him ... these are the signs of PMS!!

HOORAYYYYY!!!

WE HAVE A SOLUTION TO THE PROBLEM!!!

So your husband, just wanting to CLARIFY if his instincts are correct, leans over and quietly asks "Is this PMS?"

Now, the logical answer to this question would be "Yes, dear. I am. Please understand that my social behavior may be erratic for the next several days. But afterwards, I will be back to being the same gal you married 18 years ago on April 9th and everything will be hunky dory for the next 21 days or so."

That's the logical answer.

But ... and here's the part I don't understand ... women REFUSE to admit that their psychotic behavior could somehow be connected to their innards erupting like the 4th of July.

So you naturally snap back "NO! IT'S NOT PMS, YOU ASSHOLE! THIS ICE IS TOO COLD, DAMMIT! I WANT WARMER ICE! WAITRESS! WAITRESS!!! BRING ME WARMER ICE NOWWWWWWWW!!!!!!!!!!"

Now we think that you've somehow mind-melded with Andrea Yates and are trying to figure out in our heads how we can protect our children from you.

BUT!!!

If there was a t-shirt that could be slipped to you by a waitress, a husband, a traffic cop or anyone in the free world that said "I Have PMS", we would all treat you nicer.

MORAL OF THE STORY: Seriously. Quit denying it, ladies. Just admit it to everyone around you and we'll all pitch in and help make nature's little uterine war zone a less bumpier ride.

This is our promise to you.