Tuesday, June 7, 2005 | 8:16 a.m.
Hot from the files of inanity: A couple of guys in California have invented a contraption that helps men predict what to expect from their female partners during PMS.
(That would be "premenstrual syndrome," which can be associated with, but is not limited to, "pending murder syndrome.")
Names of the PMS Tracker's inventors aren't listed on the item's Web site. But it's a safe assumption that they're guys, if for no other reason than they presume there are "three mistakes most men make during PMS."
There are, in fact, at least eight:
Breathing, talking, breathing, talking, breathing, talking, breathing and, finally, talking.
The PMS Tracker (which costs $12.95 plus shipping and handling, and no, I am not going to list the Web site. Find it yourself. Are your hands broken?) is a little wheel that divides the female cycle into phases, each of which, according to the company information, "has its own symptoms and own set of maladies that must be handled in different ways."
(Breathing, talking, breathing ...)
Phases listed include "manic," "rage" and "bloated."
They left out, "felonious."
Under each phase it offers advice to some poor schmo who has just wasted $12.95 plus shipping and handling. For example, to ease a woman through the bloating stage, PMS Tracker suggests giving her "a neck, back or foot rub."
(Talking and talking and talking ...)
We'll give the neck rubs, thank you very much. Come over here, and bring that power sander.
Suffice to say this chunk of colorful plastic offers a man about as much protection as the Patriot Act offers our civil rights.
Of particular amusement is the advice given under the wheel's "carnal phase":
"It's party time! Saddle up and ride that wild pony!"
(Pity the poor woman whose pony is more of a ... er, donkey.)
Honestly, women who utter such phrases only exist in video games -- unless we're talking about actual horses. We like horses. They don't talk.
Now, my friend Maggie gets rankled about the assertion that women suddenly become different people because of monthly hormonal surges.
She contends that some men might need to find comfort in the assumption that their usual habits only annoy us because of an uncontrollable, physiological event.
The reality is their habits always irritate us. It's just harder to put up with that clown combo he calls "an outfit" when feeling as if you've been run over by a bus.
True to its boy-gadget status, PMS Tracker is equipped with a magnet that "sticks to any metal surface." (No mention as to whether the magnet leaves an indentation in the forehead.)
PMS Tracker's inventors say their true intentions -- beyond making money off men who believe the only thing standing between them and universal knowledge is owning the right tool -- lie in helping couples navigate "the intricacies of PMS."
(Breathing and breathing and breathing ...)
There is nothing intricate, and survival is easy:
Buy chocolate. Leave it on the doorstep. Go away.
And for heaven's sake, stop talking.
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