Oh Dear, It's a Full Moon. Is My Beard Showing?

I am in a MOOD.

One of those kick-'em-in-the-teeth-now-and-take-names-later kind of moods.

One of those moods where you don't wanna mess with me. Because I may just end up using my kah-rah-tay and jew-jit-sue moves to lay you out flat, buster. And then, just for good measure, I may just run up the wall, flip out behind, land on my feet, and beat up the rest of the neighborhood bullies with my stunning array of well-placed kicks, punches, flips, twirls, handstands and jumps.

Because as we all know, I was a cheerleader and award-winning olympic gymnast in a former life, as well as being one of super-secret elite squadron of Charlie's Angels that were so special we could not be shown on the big screen for fear of blowing our cover and thereby jeopardizing the security, health and well-being of every American citizen on the planet today.

Or not.

In the past three days I have been there for the birth of the newest grandchild, altercated verbal bashings between employees, dealt with attitudinal teenagers, heatedly discussed differing viewpoints of world culture with the Hubster, and had absolutely no patience whatsoever or tolerance of any kind for anything or anyone. I have missed meals, making me crankier than normal. I have missed rest, making me super-cranky. I have been unable to sleep well, making me cranky on wheels.

In short, I've been a joy to endure the past few days.

It's FullMoonItis. A dreaded, nasty case.

Stay inside. Lock your doors.

And watch out for the crazed, bearded fat lady with the wild kah-rah-tay moves.