"RANDY!" The old farmhouse shuddered with the force of that shout, sending small clouds of decaying plaster to float down onto the already dirty floor. "RANDY! Am I gonna have to come in there and stomp you to death? Where's my bowl of oat bran?"

The object of that bellowing cringed, unconsciously touching the plaster cast which immobilized his right leg. "Coming, Dearest!" Randy hastily poured the two gallons of milk into the punch bowl filled with cereal, and carefully limped into the back bedroom. "Here you are, sweetie." Using great care not to spill the heavy container, he gently lowered in front of the 400-lb. woman lying in bed.

"It's about damned time! The commercial is almost over." Peggy took one bite of the cereal and threw the whole bowl at him. He managed to avoid the flying bowl, although a good part of the milk and cereal hit him on the way to the far wall. The bowl shattered, leaving another gash in the plaster. "You idiot! I told you I like my cereal sweetened! Get your ass back in there and make me another bowl! And clean up this mess before I get out of bed!" Her puffy eyes narrowed. "'Cause you know what will happen if I gotta do that...."

"Yes, dear! I'm sorry! It was all my fault!" Randy felt terror rising in his heart, and scrambled as best he could to pick up the largest pieces, before going back to the kitchen to start over. He shook his head sadly as he pulled down his mother's last big serving bowl. Good thing they had moved out. Tears filled his eyes as he thought of the next months.

God, why hadn't he thought about it? Seeing Richard's temper, it was obvious that violence was in her blood. And he knew enough about horses to know they only went into heat once a year. So why in hell hadn't he realized that Peggy's morphed form would end up as a quarter-ton of burning rage after 6 months of PMS?

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