Fiancé always says girls are on emotional roller coasters. He says we’re prone to experiencing moments of utter joy and ecstasy only minutes before crashing down into a heap of snotty, heaving cries. I roll my eyes when he says this, or get mad because it comes up subsequent to one of these alleged roller coaster episodes. (No one likes to be called grumpy when they in fact are grumpy)

But this weekend, I can vouch for his assertion and contribute qualitative data to support this thesis for the pool of male knowledge everywhere to borrow from when arguing this same thesis with their sisters/girlfriends/wives/secretaries.

At one point, I believe around dinnertime, I quietly excused myself to the washroom where I cried, uncontrollably. I asked myself why I was doing this, to which my crying self replied, “I (sniff sniff) don’t (sniff) KNOWWWWWWWW,” and proceeded to heave cry some more. I was shaking and breathing erratically and a big mess. You could romanticize it and say this big, bad world was too much for my heart to bear. Or that a sensitive girl like me is just built to spontaneously combust in a mental-patient way every now and again. Fiancé came and rescued me, rubbed my back and told me to “Breathe, babe, tell me what’s wrong.” The poor guy was so confused and looked at me like a little boy looks at a stunned bird that’s flown into a window. “Is it OK, Dad?” “Yes, son, but don’t go near it, you’ll scare it.”

I calmed down and reassured roommate that I’m not headed for a straight jacket anytime soon. An anxiety attack maybe? I took a bath, drank some tea and had my back rubbed as I fell asleep. By bedtime, I was able to half-smile and joke, “Babe, does it bother you that your fiancée is crazy?” “No,” he said. “You keep things interesting.” That brought me right up to the highs of highs, hearing him say that. He took my face and kissed it, rubbed my hair and hugged me.

So maybe girls are emotional roller coasters. My mum says to blame it on hormones. But that has been her answer to things since I was wearing training bras. Maybe we are like this to keep things interesting. The Tabasco sauce to life.