I am as grumpy as a bear with a thorn in its arse. I started my periods at the age of 11 and am now in my fifties, yet does The Curse show any signs of gasping its last breath? That would be a big, fat, no. I’ve read all the blurb online about Menopause and every article states that it happens at the average age of 51, but my body clearly hasn’t got the fucking memo. I’ve had 40 years of cramps, backache, migraines, sore boobs, insomnia, nausea and painful bowel movements and I have had about as much as I can take. Both my oestrogen and my progesterone need to jog the fuck on and leave me to my old age.
I can’t believe that not only are my periods not stopping, they’re getting ever more frequent. In fact, Aunt Flo has just been back for a visit only 9 days after she last left the building and she didn’t come alone. Oh no. She brought with her Migraine-The-Torturer and his hanger-on Nausea, The Munchies who moaned there were no Star Burst in the house and made me drive 14 miles to buy some, and my old friend Back Pain who still thinks it’s hilarious to keep me awake half the night in agony. My exhausted ovaries have served them all with an Eviction notice but they’re not playing ball (although it feels like someone’s playing ball with my bladder, the amount of peeing I’m doing!).
There is one person who has vacated the premises, however. Energy. Yup, he deserted me months ago and only flits back now and again to have his washing done before packing his bags and sodding off back to Siberia. Traitor! I hope he gets frostbite or eaten by Cossacks.
I’ve worked out that in the last 40 years I’ve spent at least £2,400 on sanitary products and what has my Uterus given me in return? Agonizing, fiery pain that’s what. I could have gone on a cruise with that cash.
Hormones you’re fired, and if you don’t vacate the building soon I’ll have security escort you off the premises!