Girl, you'll be a woman again

Today I saw a dog do a double-take on a human from the passenger seat of his owner's car which made me nearly piss myself laughing, but then again, I'm walking around like Julianne Moore in Safe thinking that I am acutely feeling the effects of chemical poisoning. There was a fire in the building adjacent to my work, and despite the fact that our entire building was filled with rancid, thick smoke, we were expected to sit at our desk and breathe this shit for the entire day. I asked the building manager what had burned, and he replied "oh, you're probably just smelling chemical smoke from the insulation that caught on fire. It's fine, just go back to work." Whatever girlfriend! I ain't giving birth to no hairy, pointy-eared child unless it's a mogwai or Alf.

Like any good American, my ass was out the door with a headache and a lawsuit on my mind. I added Weird Pyromaniac Construction Firm to the list of people I regularly forward to my counsel for possilble litigation, which includes Phil Collins and my parents, and checked a medical reference website to see which disease I was suffering from as a result of this trauma. I ruled out scurvy, as I haven't recently spent a year on a 18th century galleon subsisting only salted pork, and also felt confident in checking rabies, the gout and malaria off the list.

Yet I discovered, through my medical expertise and diligent research, that I am suffering from puberty as a result of this incident. Yes, it's true. I am becoming a woman for the second time. I didn't know that puberty was a disease or a condition that needed to be identified through a list of symptoms, yet according to wrongdiagnosis.com, the following are the official indicators of that special, special change:

Increased appetite
Clumsiness
Irritability
Secrecy
Maturation of internal reproductive organs
Menstruation

I've been ravenous for about a week, tripped over my alarm clock this morning and have been quite irritable all day. I can feel my ovaries and Fallopian tubes maturing by the second, and am expecting to menstruate in about three weeks time. And I've been quite secretive about my desire to perform an interpretive dance to Spandau Ballet's "Gold," at Radio City Music Hall, as well as the time machine I'm building in my closet to send myself back to the eighties.

So, you may never hear from me again, as I am quite confident that Weird Pyromaniac Construction Firm will be forced to award me millions for my puberty, as, sadly, it is a condition with no known cure.