I recently had the kind of day where if you could take it to the customer service department and get your money back, you would. I won’t go into the details, though it involved a car, a cop, an ex-, and a lost DVD rental. PMS was my friend and I didn’t have many others.

I exploded through the door of Higher Grounds in search of pure cane sugar demons to take my frustrations out on. Seducing me sweetly from the confectionery case stood a voluptuous chorus line of glowing cupcakes. Maybe an inch and a half tall adorned with two inches of icing squeezed into church spires of heavenly glory, the vanilla one with the red heart chose me. I bought it with a charming latte to accompany us to our table.

Luster dust blurred my vision, making the angelic icing almost too pretty to disturb. I took a fat bite anyway, icing crushing through the tiny gap in my front teeth causing ribbons of righteousness to dress my tongue. Smaller second bite, since this was a three-bite goregasm. The last one was almost too much for my mouth, but I pushed it in anyway, almost oblivious to the dark eyes in the corner that watched me like a television.

Comfortable in the knowledge that icing hung from my nose and luster dust sparkled on my chin, I went to the counter again. “Give me another!”

Two dollars and ten cents later, I was at it again. Caloric remorse had no place at my table. I bit through the cold icing and slightly warmer cake, repeating my previous adventure bite for bite.

“I can relate,” he said walking slowly past me. His dark eyes looked into me, probably seeing a line of sparkly icing and chunks of cake on an acid adventure through my innard space.

“Really?!” I asked with the lack of inhibition that only someone who cares nothing for social graces due to a losing set of circumstances can have. He was hot though, and his butt was suddenly in the seat across from me. I tried to feel embarrassed for my messy face, but I just couldn’t summon it.

“You eat with such love and devotion,” he said, again x-raying my intent. “Yes, I can relate.”

PMS can bring out the psychic in a person unbidden. A flash of his previous late-night adventures passed through my mind. He was a vampire and unashamed of it. After all, they don’t leave fingerprints or blood evidence at their crime scenes, so they pretty much eat what they want all the time, too.

“You want to take a bite out of me like I did this cupcake, don’t you?” I asked, point blank.

He stared at me, and then laughed.

“I could make you immortal. We could go on many adventures together. I could freeze you in time,” was his sales pitch, standard for vamps through the ages.

“Freeze me in time? Freeze me in time?!! You want to prolong PMS for an eternity?!!!” I screamed my rage unmitigated by the sweets I had just sucked down.

“We could wait a few days…” he said, throwing his hand up in defense.

“So you want me to bleed for an eternity,” I said calmly, riding the mood swing like a Fragonard. Superhuman strength comes in many forms, and his vampire meat was no match for my clenched, knotted, pissed off muscles. “How tacky!!” I screamed, pushing him over in his chair and storming out of the coffee shop. The day sucked. The night…didn’t.