It’s finally happened. I’ve turned into the exhausted bloated frazzled dippy hormone bitch from hell. Y’know, the bad tempered middle aged woman whose husband and kids you pity cos she looks like no-fucking-fun to live with? Yup that’d be me.
My peri-menopause is somewhere in the outer stratosphere as my ovaries desperately churn out hormones so exhausted their tongues are hanging out. They feel beaten, like a whipped dog, yet refuse to lie down in the corner and just die.
My day started with period pain. In fact, my week started with period pain. It’s been 7 days of cramp riddled hell but no fucking period. What’s up with THAT?! Aunt Flo will no doubt arrive at 2am after I’ve gotten up to pee for the 4th time in four hours, passing clots so huge the toilet bowl will look like a blood bath. Yes my friends, I now have periods which look like a crime scene in which I am the victim.
I have pimples. It’s like being a teenager all over again but without the taught, lean body and hours of heavy petting. I can’t believe my 17 year old self had more sex in one year than I’ve had in the last decade.
I’ve lost my car keys. Again. I go into the kitchen to look for them. Why am I in the kitchen? Think woman, think! Ah, yes, car keys. Where the fuck did they go? Hmm, I’m thirsty maybe that’s why I’m in the kitchen. Oh, car keys! What the hell are they doing in the fridge? Er, why am I in the fridge? Maybe I need to get something out for dinner tonight.
I am evil. I can hide it until 10am when I need to get my dog into the car. “Bertie” I call sweetly “time to get in the car baby”. He ignores me and continues to sniff other dog’s wee on the bush at the corner of our drive. “C’mon fluffy child, I’m late.” He cocks his leg and moves a good foot further away. “Bert” sounding steely, “get in the sodding car.” He disappears round the corner out of view entirely. I stomp off down the drive screaming like a banshee “get in the goddamn car you fucking disobedient German fucking Schweinhund!” and unceremoniously help him back up the drive with my foot, at which stage 5 Ramblers walking past my house consider reporting me to the RSPCA.
I set off into town. I am the only person driving correctly and everyone else is an arsehole imbecile who has obviously never heard of the Highway fucking Code. What the hell are they doing on the roads in the middle of the morning anyway, don’t they have jobs?! Idle fuckers.
I go into Sainsburys for a pair of jeans a size bigger than I’ve worn for the past 30 years. I only have to look at a Ginger Crunch and I’ve gained 3lbs and am so swollen with water you could use me as a beach ball. I ignore the skinny stretch because lycra and I are no longer friends, and choose the pair with the elastic waistband which look reassuringly comfy. I need a new bra but they don’t make them big enough. They don’t even make a tape measure big enough.
I have frown lines between my eyebrows that 100 years of botox couldn’t fix and jowls that look like Schnorbitz. Only Schnorbitz has more hair. Wayyyy more hair. I wonder if Sainsburys sell eyebrow pencils?
On my way home I drive 5 miles past the petrol station before I realize my tank is on red. I must remember to do a “need petrol” post-it note and stick it on the hall table. Remember Jak, petrol post-it. Petrol post-it. Petrol post-it. As soon as I’m through the back door I reach for a pen. Hmmm. Why did I need a pen? Was I supposed to be writing something down?
It’s 2pm and I crawl into bed for a nap. Not a rest, an actual drool-on-the-pillow old fogie’s nap from which I wake bathed in sweat and with armpits which smell like death. I’d dreamt I was being arrested for some heinous, but unknown, crime like forgetting to pay my council tax bill even though it’s done automatically by direct debit, or stealing invisible plans to the rights of way on the local footpath. I wonder if my phone is bugged or the government are spying on me through my TV.
I slob under the duvet, chomping like the hungry caterpillar and binge watch 3 hours of Bake Off to combat the anxiety and paranoia. I prefer Pru to Mary. Mary was nice and nice people are irritating. I forget I used to be one.