The Real Origin of Werewolves

Now, understand that none of this can be proven. I’m pretty sure I’m right, though.

Way back in the mists of time, far earlier than any historical mention of werewolves, there lived a man and a woman. The man was not the woman’s mate–no, her mate knew when to keep his head down. This man was not so bright. Perhaps he didn’t have a woman of his own to teach him.

Anyway, on this far distant day, the man annoyed the woman. Her mate tried to hint to the man that he should back off, but he was too dense. And the woman tried to be polite, but the man just wouldn’t shut up and go away, even when she snarled. And so she ripped his throat out with her teeth. Her mate was aghast, but also properly afraid (and also, most of the time, in love) and so he helped her get rid of the evidence and tried not to think how much more pleasant she was after she’d killed, and he never told anyone because he loved her and also who else was going to chase after those dang kids?

So now you know. The first werewolf–indeed, possibly all werewolves–was a wolf-woman. I don’t know how the history has been so wrong so long. I’d think the fact of our being tied to the cycles of the moon would be a big honking clue, but I guess men really just think everything is about them. That’s probably where the extra hair came in, too–trying to make it about men. We don’t actually get ugly on our wolf-days; we just feel that way.

Warning! Read on

This does not mean, men, that you ever get to dismiss a woman’s opinion as part of her wolf-days as my dear, foolish (deceased) husband used to do. We don’t decide you’re an idiot because we’re not in a good mood. You’re an idiot when you’re an idiot. It’s just some days that could get you killed.

Let me give you an example.

If you come see me to rant about my “lazy” teachers who aren’t chasing after your daughter to give her all the work she missed in the last month while she was sitting in class dreaming about boys instead of paying attention, I’m going to be annoyed. I don’t care if I just got back from a Caribbean cruise that I spent nibbling cheesecake from a hot guy’s navel, I’m going to want to smack you one. That’s legit.

Here’s the difference. Come on a bad day, and while you rant there’s another voice under yours, whispering to me kill. As you go on, so does that voice, and it gets stronger. Also, it gets buddies.

Kill. Rip. Blood.

No one will miss him.

Cull out the stupid, for the good of the herd.

Kill. Blood. Now.

You won’t know because I’m a professional. I can smile through my fury with the best of them. In this case, that only makes it worse, because the first you’ll know is when I’m lunging for your throat. And by then it’s too late.

So please. Learn what that long-dead not-ancestor (because he didn’t survive to reproduce) didn’t. Walk softly around a woman on her wolf-days.

And also stop being stupid. On all days. Because you never know…we can smile with the best of them.