It’s Dolphin Week. PeriodT.

When Jan and I were first together, I sent him an emoji of a shark.

“Boo,” I’d said. “It’s (shark emoji) week.”

“Dolphin?” he’d responded, “I don’t get it.”

Then I had to explain it was a shark. Then I had to explain what shark week was. And then he got it.

What my partner, and maybe your partner, but certainly not all partners understand is the monthly ebbs and flows of hormones rushing you like a tsunami wave off the coast of the crimson ocean. Tonight, I scarfed down a bloody (no pun intended) steak, nearly heaved over squash, laughed hysterically after tripping over the dishwasher, and then cried my heart out like my prom date had left me while Jan tried to console me. And did I mention it all happened within an hour?

If you’re shielding your partner from your insane, crazy, crying-over-commercials dolphin week, stop.

You go on with your weep/laugh/binge/rage self, love. And eat the ice cream he brought you.

— c โ˜†

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