I can always tell when my Ladies’ Holiday is approaching because I have exactly the same breakdown, in exactly the same way.
It starts when someone expresses hunger and a desire for dinner. Then I go stomping off to the kitchen, silently fuming because my family’s logic always seems to progress from “I’m hungry” to “Let’s bug The Help to make dinner,” instead of “Let’s find out what the dinner plan is, then go in the kitchen and get started.”
Then I huff around, peeling the carrots in a Very Pointed and Obviously Aggressive manner, and get mad because everyone else doesn’t notice, because they are barely able to distract themselves from their terrible, terrible hunger with video games. And heaven help anyone who notices my short temper, because if they dare say, “If you need help, you should ask for it,” they are in Big Trouble, because they should have sprung from my loins understanding that their duty in life is to provide assistance, and/or been given divine understanding of my moods with the magic words, “I do.”
And then I serve dinner by slapping down plates and Pointedly Not Clearing Away People’s Crap From The Table, and when people don’t show up the very millisecond I call them to dinner, I flounce off upstairs to sulk because I Am So Very Unappreciated.
Then I look at the calendar and realize I should just have chips for dinner and all will be much, much better.