To My Children: I’d tell you to stop reading now but one day you’ll have menopausal wives and I want you to be understanding husbands, like your father, so have at it.
I have gone from being peri-menopausal to very menopausal, and last Sunday I had to leave church halfway through the service because I had one hot flush after another; so many that I was sweating bobbers, as we say here oop north.
Aside:
What is a bobber?
According to Google:
bobber
ˈbɒbə/Submit
noun
1.
a person who rides on a bobsleigh.
2.
a float used in angling.
So, the menopause is causing elite sportsmen in weird clothing to cascade down my person? Sounds fishy to me; and not at all the sort of thing I want to be bothered with in the middle of a woman-made heatwave.
Back to my story: there I was, sweating for Africa, even though our usual British summer plays more like an African winter – or a British winter, come to that: central heating on in June? Go for it.
I was feeling ill and extremely ill tempered; so I left church. I’m afraid the menopause is going to make me an atheist.
I know they call it ‘the change’ but that isn’t the kind of change I expected.
I have to tell you – hot flushes…I’m not a fan. Though I’m thinking of investing in a fan. Maybe even a fan company. Or an air conditioning company; or an ice company. I’m surprised these companies aren’t all run by women of a certain age. My age.
Trust me, we don’t need to worry about a New Ice Age: just put a bunch of menopausal women at the front of the line, give ’em a cup of tea, and let ’em have at nature.
And then bring on the HRT. Please!
I have the funniest readers in the blogosphere (not necessarily ha ha…)