I am writing this from bed at 7.30pm – but don’t judge me – I have ‘The Menopausal Exhaustion’ (the kind that hits with the force of a ten ton truck!). I have had a proper grown up social life for nearly 2 weeks! Yep, my normal evenings of home; bra off; telly on have been abandoned due to an unusual boost of energy which may or may not be HRT related (2 months in and so far so good) and the Edinburgh Festival right on my doorstep.
And as we all know a hectic social life as a menopausal woman is a very different story than a hectic social life when you are not a menopausal woman. Indeed I may well have overestimated the menopausal woman’s ability to party! I actually thought I could go out three nights in a row including one after work!! And not go to bed til 11pm!! What was I thinking? Brain fog made me forget my complete inability to function unless in bed by 9.30pm
Firstly the fringe venues – tiny teeny tiny and SWELTERING!! I do not friggin need any help with keeping warm. The HRT has not cut the hot flushes. Laughed so hard at one event the sweat droplets landed on the man next to me – he was rather horrified but a true Edinburgh gent about it all. I also peed myself a little bit but think I got away with it.
And the seats! Designed for the arses of the likes of Victoria Beckham and Kylie Minogue. I do not have the arse for gold hotpants or for trying to perch on these tiny seats without spilling over onto the seats next to me. I remember dreading the fatso coming to sit beside me at events. Now I am that fatso. Feckin Karma… I can see them walking tomorrow going inside their heads ‘please no – not beside her… please no… oh fuck it is!!’
And the way I always end up right along at the end of a row – with a bladder like mine this is not a good thing – Edinburgh people are generally polite though and pretend they don’t mind getting up to let you out to the loo after 15 mins in especially when you stand on their feet and spill your drink on them! But at least when I wet myself a bit laughing at the comedian no-one will notice when we file out. Every cloud and all that.
And for some reason although having achieved the superpower of invisibility to most since hitting menopause – I still seem to have no problem attracting the loonies at these events. I sometimes wonder if someone is having a sick joke and that my ‘ladycare’ magnet is actually a ‘looney magnet’ and there is a secret camera watching. Coz if there is a looney (I do hope that isn’t now a highly offensive un PC term – I am getting so confused with what can and can’t be said these days) about when I am sat waiting for a show you can guarantee they will come and sit beside me. I’ve had the shouters, the drunks, the ones that find the concept of shutting up for an hour to actually listen to the feckin act an alien ones. My HRT is helping reduce my desire to stab such people which is reassuring. I mean I still want to stab some people but probably the more deserving like the fuckwit on the bus that played some loud youtube crap music video all the way from Stockbridge to the Pleasance. I would have got away with mitigating circumstances on that one. Indeed an award for services to the community may well have been in order.
So the HRT has definitely given me a bit of a spring in my step. It also may have caused the hairs on my chin have started to defy gravity (unlike my tits!) and grow up the way! Seriously – how is this even possible? I was almost reluctant to pluck so impressed I was with this feat.
I also seem to have got clumsier. Today I am sporting a scraped arm where I fell down the stairs at one of the Fringe venues (while sober I may add!!); a bruise on my leg from walking into the side of a low table in a bar; a burn near my belly button where I pulled my jeans on from the tumble drier not realising the button was hotter than volcanic lava until i went to button them! A burn is also on my nipple from miscalculating the reach across my super dooper new heated clothes horse to get a dry bra. I also have burnt fingers from peeling the lid off my microwave meal too early. Which I then then stung on nettles when reached into a bush to get some tasty early season blackberries. Then when I grabbed a dockleaf to soothe the sting, a wasp was under it and stung the tip of my finger. I mean you couldn’t make this up. I am quite literally an accident waiting to happen. My partner is getting embarrassed due to the mildly accusing looks they get given when we are out. Which is ironic as the phrase ‘wouldn’t hurt a fly’ applies quite literally to them – last night they took half an hour getting two flies out the bedroom … half an hour of gently cajoling and half a roll of andrex tissue to set them free (to probably fly into some other half inch crack to buzz all around their house). As opposed to my approach which is to rush around the room with a rolled up magazine shouting ‘DIE FUCKERS’
But life is for living… And like this weeks picture – let’s always go for the front seat!
Just as soon as we’ve watched Corrie in bed with a nice cup of tea and a Chocolate Digestive.
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