Feck All Fits

Holidays next week. And Fuck All fits. And I mean Fuck All. Even my swimsuit is tight – my lovely multicoloured slinky swimsuit that fitted last year is too bloody tight. Gonna have to take my black speedo one I wear when I occasionally go swimming as REFUSE to buy another Fat Bastard swimsuit. It is just too stressful – the makers of swimsuits for fatties assume their customers must all have juggernaut sized tits. This is not the case. The one part of my body not expanding on an almost daily basis is my tits – so the boob bits on the swimsuits for fatties just flap down sadly like Sweet Dogs ears over my wee fried eggs (note to self – remember to lose three stones next year and then you will reclaim your toned athletic body. Yes I bloody know I said that last year. And the year before. But wine, chocolate and Netflix get in the way). Or possibly forget the swimming suit and agree to go the nudist beach my partner discovered was quite close by completely co-incidently while claiming to be ‘looking up possible historical day trips’ on trip adviser

But maybe its just as well that Fuck All fits as there is hardly any bloody room in the case for clothes.

Seriously – going on holiday as a menopausal woman is rather different from going on holiday as a non menopausal woman – when it was simply a case of flinging a bikini, flipflops and a couple of books into a case and heading off.

Rather more is needed when packing now. It is medication first. Feckin medication. I hate being a person who needs ‘medication’. My thyroid is fecked (common side effect of menopause) so I need tablets for that (people say an underactive thyroid is a great diagnosis coz you will lose loads of weight when you start the tablets – well I beg to feckin differ – lying bastards!). Forgot them last time and spent the last three days of the holiday fast asleep as just could not function. Well tbh I was also totally fed up with my holiday companions – tolerance levels of a menopausal woman are low to say the least – and was fucked off with the way one of them sniffed and the way the other one laughed. So lying in bed snoozing and reading and ordering room service was a better alternative to stabbing them.

Then the HRT patches need to go in as they stop me telling strangers to fuck off. And some sellotape to keep the feckers attached to my arse as they have an annoying habit of falling off. Then the tube of gel for the rosacea which is all over my fecking face (also hormone related apparently). And my magnesium supplements and magnesium spray which helps me sleep (apart from between 3.16am and 4.45am but getting used to that now). Nurofen for the achy joints which are the latest gift from the menopause fairy. Earplugs essential to stop me starring in ‘Banged up Abroad’ for suffocating my partner at 3am for snoring. Tweezers to deal with the chin hair coz even through I have had full face ‘threading” done for the first time yesterday (successful upsell from the beautician who used a lit mirror to prove that I was actually more Gorilla than Human). Hurts like feck btw – apologies to the person after me as my gasps of utter agony and less than strong pelvic floor meant occasional lapses in bladder control) I know for a fact the bright sunlight will encourage the little fuckers to grow loud and proud and show themselves off to the world.

Fanny magnet as can’t wear it coz last time it set off the buzzer thing at security and I had to have a very complicated conversation with the not exactly empathetic guard who was most confused why my fanny beeped everytime she ran the wand thing over it. Sanitary protection because though I am not due – the joys of peri menopause and HRT mean that I could have the painters in at any random time. Specs packed as arms no longer stretch long enough to read small print or even medium print. Ipad with Homeland episodes downloaded to watch between 3.16am and 4.45am each evening.

So just room for a couple of kaftans. I put all my shoes in my partners case when they are not looking – easy as they are glued to the ipad trying to figure out the best route to the airport. (it will be the tram as the stop is four minutes walk and will take us straight there but why stop their fun searching various bus routes and uber prices and last minute car parking charges). I like shoes – they don’t take it personally if you gain weight unlike my feckin multicoloured swimsuit!!

Then have a panic as think passport may be out of date. Then have bigger panic when can’t find the bloody thing. Menopausal Brain fog means I can’t find my driving licence either. Finally find them in my sock drawer (not been wearing socks for ages as so warm so no wonder I had no recollection). Passport is fine…- six months to go – hooray! I look at the lovely non menopausal me starting back from the back page. I remember laughing when my friend said I’d be nearly 50 when I got a new one. Coz obviously that was so so long away – so so so long away that it would never come. Aye right….it was like hitting black ice and spiralling out of control towards the next feckin decade. I have to sit down for a minute when realise I will be nearly 60 when the next one is due. And it only took five minutes to get from 40-50.

Then relax. I am realistic and recognise I won’t lose three stones by tomorrow so may as well have a big bar of Galaxy and a cup of tea and watch the rest of Bodygaurd which is fab even though it doesn’t have Whitney and Kevin Costner in it.

Except…. feck… feck…. sunglasses. My posh Ralph Lauren sunglasses – bought for a ridiculous amount of money when I was on a menopausal high… Where are they!!!


PS to follow my menopausal musings scroll to the top click on my face then click on follow
PPS – Twitter @gallopingcatast

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