The Forbidden Question

If this post offends I’ve decided to go off and commit ‘harakiri’. The picture sums up how mum and me feel after my ‘faux pas’ yesterday. Oh well, move onwards and upwards as Uncle Hugh would say. Mum was getting all maudlin anyway. It happens every month this 'maudlin' business. It usually starts with her getting up in the morning and staring in the mirror for about five minutes. Then she’ll say, “Look at my wrinkles Henry.” Then she’ll say, “I’m fat and ugly.” Then she’ll say, “What’s it all about Henry? Why do we bother?” Then she'll start to cry. That’s when I know it’s gonna happen very soon – Uncle Hugh will ask ‘the forbidden question’.

Except it won’t happen this month (big sigh of relief) ‘cause Uncle Hugh is in the UK until the end of the week and her maudlin has already started. It usually only lasts for a couple of days, then she’s fine again. So by the time he gets back, mum will be her usual self - thank God Rex for that.

Normally when Uncle Hugh’s around and mum starts being maudlin I can feel a tension starting to form in the air between them. Us dogs are very sensitive to stuff like that – subtle changes in body language, sharp verbal digs, little huffs and puffs. And then I start to feel ‘the forbidden question’ forming insidiously in Uncle Hugh’s mind and I think “OH NO!” I sometimes wonder if he knows himself that it’s happening, or if it’s some kind of involuntary thing.

At that point I start to project really strong thoughts into the ether, hoping that his brain will pick up on them – like a radio picks up radio waves – “DON’T ASK THE QUESTION UNCLE HUGH. DON’T ASK! DON’T! DON’T!” (excuse the exclamation marks Braja) I stare into his eyes and think really hard, “DON’T ASK!” I think it so hard, it makes my head hot. But it just ends up with him saying “Why is Henry staring at me like that?”

Then I try ‘diversionary’ tactics. I try to divert his thoughts from uttering those words. I put on my best and brightest “PLAY WITH ME” face. I run frantically round and round the room with my tug toy – encouraging him to chase me. I find my tennis ball and throw that around too. I get my toys one by one and place them at his feet. I try everything in my power EVERYTHING to try and stop him from asking ‘the forbidden question’. In fact, I throw myself around so much I wear myself to a bloody frazzle and STILL it pours forth from his mouth EVERY SINGLE BLOODY MONTH WITHOUT FAIL – THE QUESTION YOU SHOULD NEVER, EVER ASK MY MUM:

“Have you got PMS?”

Talk about ‘red rag to a bull’. Mum turns into a raving, shrieking banshee and all hell breaks loose. Every time. Every month. Without fail. Is the man thick? I ask. Is it another ‘Man Thing’? I’ve no idea what this PMS is but I decided to scour the Internet to try and find something that might help Uncle Hugh and give him some advice about what he should and should not do around mum at ‘maudlin’ time, and I found the video below. I still don’t know what PMS is. It’s a big puzzle to me, but the guy in the video seems to know what he’s talking about. Do you think Uncle Hugh will listen to him?