Flushed Away

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!

 

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