I almost beat my usual goal of posting before midnight. Almost. But after actually having a life the past few days, I have to say I'm doing pretty damn good. XD
The writing in this one is a bit different, but I enjoyed writing it. Enjoy reading!
Pattern
A nervous tick.
An apprehensive glance.
The calender.
February.
The third Monday.
An unkempt head hits the whitewall.
Ash Ketchum had no qualms in admitting that he was not the most perceptive man to graze the planet, so it was sort of a big deal when the young Kanto Champion realized something very important about his girlfriend.
At the same time every month, her many moods began to change drastically for the same amount of days every time.
Ash wasn't stupid. He knew that a girl's womanhood did weird stuff to her. His mother had never failed to explain anatomy of both the male and female flavor to her young son whenever she had the chance. Delia would say she wanted to prepare her son. Ash would say she wanted to torture him.
No, the real thing the eighteen-year-old was proud of himself for solving was what came before the period part.
PMS.
While Ash could never remember what it stood for, he knew it made girls twice as crazy than they already were. After all, he had traveled with enough prepubescent girls to know that certain weeks out of each and every month became more and more torturous as the years went on. Not Dawn, nor May, nor Iris could compare to the pure terror that Misty Waterflower herself could cause.
The PMS-thingy was perhaps even worse than the real deal when it came to Misty (and Ash), which was why he decided it would be beneficial for everyone involved if he started to take notes on Misty's behavior every month so he could handle it properly.
Ash took great care not to let his longtime girlfriend see these notes. The last thing the aspiring Pokémon Master needed was his head chopped off and every ounce of blood sucked out of his veins. So to avoid this, he kept his notes a secret, leaving them on his desk at the Indigo Plateau. At first, Ash had entertained the theory that maybe he was just being paranoid in thinking that Misty would find his notes.
On the other hand, the last time he had tried to hide something from Misty, he had been pummeled by an disconcertingly familiar mallet that he hadn't seen in a few years. The worst part was that the thing he had been hiding was a gift for her seventeenth birthday. Although when Ash thought about it, he remembered that that particular day must have been the dreaded Day Four of PMS.
Day Four was Unprecedented Rage.
But, the trainer remembered, today's only Day One. I can get through this.
So, when the apprehensive and already defeated Ash Ketchum stepped foot in the Cerulean Gym on the third Monday in February, he prepared himself for the first day of the most beautiful Hell on Earth with Misty Waterflower, the most devilish angel he had ever met.
Ten years later...
"What the hell is this?" Misty Ketchum curiously murmured to herself, quickly throwing a glance at the empty doorway.
No one.
Why not snoop through her husband's desk?
Well it's not really snooping through it if he leaves things out for everyone to see, Misty though devilishly as she set the sack she had entered with down on Ash's desk and plopped herself into his cushiony black chair.
The only reason the Cerulean gym leader was at her husband's desk was because that morning, Ash had been in such a rush to leave for work that he had forgotten the lunch she had so dutifully packed for him. Some days, Misty would have told him that she was neither his maid nor his mother and that it was his job to feed himself. Today, however, Misty was feeling uncommonly generous. The young woman couldn't really explain her giving mood, but she chalked it up to the simple fact that she felt her period coming on. That was a good enough excuse for anything.
So, Misty left her unusually boring gym, sped home to pack her husband's lunch, and finally ended up sitting at Ash's desk, waiting for him to return to his office from wherever he currently was.
She took another look at the object that had originally captured her eye. It was an aged, bright red spiral notebook. There was no title on the cover, no breaks in the metal spiral, and the book was closed. It looked completely normal.
Misty knew better than to think that something that looked normal really was normal.
Leaning forward in the swivel chair, Misty took another cautionary look at the empty door.
Still no one. Now's your chance, Misty!
She deftly turned the battered red cover of the notebook to the very first page.
Ash Ketchum's Guide to Womanly Patterns.
"'Womanly patterns'?" Misty questioned aloud, turning the page. Her husband's sharp, untidy scrawl greeted her once more.
PMS- Don't know what it is? You poor, poor sap.
Misty's eyes widened as her eyes continued to scan the pages, flipping them wildly in case the suspect in question entered the room. She felt a practiced rage begin to boil her insides. Her husband had taken notes on every menstrual cycle she had had since she was about eighteen. Misty wasn't sure if she should be angry at him for continuously documenting her behavior or proud of him for his diligence.
But that might have been the upcoming period talking.
I rather liked this. I'm thinking of eventually writing up Ash's documentation of Misty's periodical mood swings. :)