Interrupting the paladinity of this blog to tread into no-man’s land.
Yesterday was a horrible day. I woke up in a crappy mood and went to bed in same-said crappy mood, and at 7PM to boot. And I kept telling people ‘Eh, it’s just been a meh week. I’ll get over it’. But I knew what was wrong with me.
This is not a life sciences class, so I’ll spare you the details of how our womanly parts function, but it boils down to this: Once a month, many of us go through Three Stages of Hormonalism (it’s a word because I say it’s a word, and now it’s on the internets), and some of us do so in fairly significant extremes.
You, unsuspecting WoW player, will be playing your game and minding your own business when a female guildmate logs on. Immediately you receive a whisper to this effect:
Hi! How are you today? Do you need help with anything? I was going to do x and I thought I remembered you saying you could use y and—
Good luck impeding her. She’s decided that today you are the person that must benefit from Stage One: Maternalism (also a word because I say so). Eggs are a’cookin’ and her brain is telling her she needs to find some poor, pathetic soul to shelter from this hard, cruel world. Congratulations. You are today’s winner of the Poor, Pathetic Soul Badge.
The next day, you’re stuck in a raid and she wants to talk:
Hey… can we talk? It’s just that… well we never really get to talk anymore and I really miss you and I wish we could talk like we used to, you know? I’m sorry, I’m probably just being silly…
So you talk. And you learn more about her in an hour than you ever wanted to know about anyone. Ever. In the end she thanks you profusely for listening and says repeatedly that she shouldn’t have troubled you, then she logs off without a word.
You, good sir or madam, have just been Weep Roll’d. Stage 2: Weepyism has just dropped out of the sky, and you’d better start digging a foxhole. Eggs are no longer a’cookin’. Don’t ask what happens to them. You don’t want to know. But it’s sad and it makes us sad and we endeavor to make you sad with us. And then apologize for it. Profusely.
The next day (why are you still logging on…?) you figure since she’s feeling bad and hates herself, you’ll invite her to your raid and stroke her ego a bit. This is what you get in response:
That’s right. A whole lot of nothing. So you ask in guildchat. Still nothing. Eventually, after several more whispers, you ask someone else to ask:
Sorry, dude. She says she turned guildchat off and has you on ignore.
You may be wondering what you did to deserve this. The most conceivable answer is: Nothing. But the real answer is that you exist, and you exist in a space near her. Even a virtual one. Stage 3: Isolationism (oh sure… that one is actually a word) I blame on the archaic custom of ostracizing women each month so that they can keep their hellspawniness to themselves. So now, guess what? We don’t want you around us. In fact it’s probably best for your mental and physical health that you avoid us entirely until we approach you again.
Most likely you will log on the next day (seriously, why do you do this to yourself?) and she will be back to her normal self. But now you’re gunshy, you say? You want to know what you can do to better prepare for the next month?
Indulge her: Tell her she’s awesome, let her help you when she insists, invite her to your groups and raids.
Socialize with her: When she wants to have that long chat, be willing to listen. Pick her back up when she knocks herself down a few hundred pegs.
Get the hell away from her: This is for your safety, and she knows it.
Now you may notice the above advice provides conflicting strategies. And if you point that out, you’re going to regret it. These are more like guidelines, anyway.
Disclaimer: I am female. I love and respect women. Sometimes (usually once a month) I hate being a woman. All my examples are exaggerated citations of things I have personally done, and not meant to offend. Now get the hell away from me. Please.