Get A Clue!

This week's (late) edition of DSMS will be told solely from Jen's point of view due to her 'condition'. John's version will be open for discussion at a, um, later date (when Jen's calendar frees up).

Last week I wrote to tell you all about this.

Then, this past Friday night played out as follows:
"Let's go!" I yell from the open garage door into the kitchen where he's standing casually choppin' it up with my folks. (Hint: clue #1)
"Man, are you rude!" he remarks as he buckles his seatbelt while I peel out of the driveway.
I look over my shoulder and nonchalantly reply, "Uh-huh."
He gives me the once over. "What's wrong with you?" he begins. "Ever since we got home you've been buzzing around barking orders and all. It's like being in the military, and here I am looking forward to...Whoa!" he almost screams, "Jen! WTF! You just went through a red light!"
"It was a yellow when I entered the intersection." I reply not even breaking a sweat. (Hint: clue #2)
He double checks his seatbelt. And then, "Seriously, dude. You've gotta chill out. We're on a date night. We're s'posed to be taking our time and enjoying the evening." "We're...yeeeowwwww!" he yells as I squeeze us between two big rigs in order to pass a barely-moving car in front of us.
"Jen! Are you even listening to me?"
I'm not actually, I'm focusing on the road trying not to get us killed, all the while focusing on just one thought.
"Hey!" he yells again. "What's going on with you? It's like you've got blinders on. You haven't acknowledged a thing I've said, and you're driving like a maniac. Look," he waves his hand sarcastically out the window, "those are traffic lights, and there are other people on the road besides us, y'know. Get a clue already!"
It took all my willpower not to pull over and kick his ass to the curb. But there was something within me burning stronger -- a void that needed immediate filling. Still, though, something had to be said. I just couldn't take it anymore.
"We were supposed to be out of the house way before seven o'clock but you had to schmooze it up with my folks. Now it's 7:15 and we're nowhere even near where we're supposed to be!"
He looks at me blankly as if I've just spoken in a foreign language.
*sigh* "I'M CRANKY. I'VE HAD A LOOOONG WEEK. I'M PMS-ing. AND MY BOOBS HURT!!!!!!" (Hint: clue #3)
And then, like the mathematician studying a formula; like the monkey in a test group; like a moth to a flame (burned by the fire) -- it dawns on him.
"Honey?" he begins.
I glare at him once again, doing 50 in a 35.
"Are you hungry?" he finishes.
"What gave you a fuckin' clue, Genius???!"