Why was I crying in church this morning?

As we go through life, our tastes change. I used to hate broccoli. Now I enjoy it. The same is true of classical music: it used to be something to be endured, not appreciated. Now I take pleasure in the interplay of the instruments and their dynamics. But I never would have thought that I could gain an appreciation for PMS.

Most women dread those few days each month when their bodies and their emotions go crazy. I, however, have begun to feel a distinct feeling of gratitude for that time. When else is a woman allowed to show her feelings? When else is it "okay" to cry, to criticize, and even to yell a little? People may turn to me with a look of incomprehension when I sit weepy-eyed, discussing racism in a class. What place do tears have in a scholarly discussion? When I sit sniffling with my children in front of the television, watching the "Feed the Children" infomercial, I can take comfort in the fact that I am allowed to feel sympathy and regret at these images. After all, my hormones won’t let me get by with being just a casual observer. That emotional control which society so values and encourages can be thrown aside for a few uninhibited days. I can show how I feel, and if anybody asks, I can say, "Oh, it’s just PMS."