Well, duuuuuh! That's like the first rule of relationships, Babe; Every man knows this. When you become a bit of a bitch -- and we didn't do anything obvious -- it MUST be PMS. A woman writes Dear Prudie over at Slate about her boyfriend's fascination with her Aunt Flo. and the problems this causes in their "relationship".
She complains that "he keeps a journal" taking careful notes of her moods and how they coincide with her cycles. This is not just absolutely fucking sick, it's bordering on "lock that Boy Up!" insanity. This is something so incredibly personal, so obviously painful and so utterly embarassing, that...she asked for help -- on the Internet --from a fake advice columnist at Slate!
Yes, you should get some really useful, expert advice there! Don't you have any girlfriends you can talk to? A mother? Personally, I'm convinced that 90% of the things you see written in these "advice columns" is pure fiction, and this just about reaches that level, but still strains at the boundaries of credibility. But, for the sake of argument, let's say it was a real cry for help. What advice does Dear Prudie offer? Basically, it can be summed up thusly:
"Hey, even though keeping a journal on your period is a pretty douchey manuever which makes me wonder about his sanity -- and perhaps your safety -- just be happy he's not out fucking everyone else...Like Tiger Woods..."
Why, that's exactly what that woman, assuming she was real, needed to hear! I can't for the life of me figure out why more people don't ask Prudie for advice; she's so good at it!
I have a better solution for you, Miss (assuming that you're real, and by some remote chance you find this);
Dump the dickhead and find a nicer man. Or become a lesbian. Whatever. Just stop writing advice columnists seeking help with a relationship that is so obviously unhealthy. Get him out of your life, change your locks, and inform the authorities about the Guy With the Menstruation Fetish.
Do anything -- except ask for advice from Dear Prudie.