Gimme dat good ole PMT

I come off a Sunday short shift to a house like a cat fight. Dog is hiding under table. Hamster is cowering at back of cage with paws over ears and even the Goldfish is tucked out of sight in the depths of his tank. I get the feeling I should do likewise.

It must be PMT. Mrs Sticker is in ferment. Elder and younger teenagers are spitting and screaming at each other like two highly territorial moutain lions. I think I was safer booking a psychotic drug dealers BMW. This is no place for a sane man to be. Although this state of affairs seems to come round once a week rather than once a month. 15 year old kicks off at 18 year old for something or other. At 15 kids seem to have no mental brakes and go careering around emotionally crashing into everyone else. Not that 18 and whatever age Mrs owns up to are better. Up for a 'Conflict and Aggression Control' training course on Tuesday. This may prove useful.

Have elected to follow the safest (cowards) course and cook sunday dinner, put on chunkiest headphones and hide in the kitchen. Now where did I put my kevlar helmet and anti-stab vest? If there was space in the garden shed that's where I'd be.