one for the girls

It’ll be my birthday in a couple of hours. Happy birthday to me.

Men. Stop reading now, this is girl talk.

You may or not know that I hit the big five-oh last year so from now on I’m starting to count backwards so I am of course now entering 50 for the second year, next year I’ll be 49.

As the year since my last birthday has progressed I have noticed some not so subtle, some welcome and some not so welcome changes occuring in my body.

My internal temperature gauge seems to have altered itself.

I’m finally gaining an insight into our friend Stu’s life. For as long as we’ve known him, and that’s more years than I care to remember, he has walked round in the middle of winter in shorts telling us all that he’s not cold. Not for him the many layers that everyone else snuggled up in. Now it would seem, not for me either.

Summer for Stu sees him panting gently in a shady corner, the perspiration  dripping off the end of his nose. I sincerely hope that doesn’t happen to me but I fear it might as I already have an extremely low tolerance level for hot weather.

The temperature gauge going up isn’t such a big thing as far  the  female rite of passage into menopause goes.  If that’s as bad as it gets, I thought, I’ll be happy bunny.

Spoke too soon there, didn’t I?

My temperature gauge suddenly decided to go loopy.

One day I was fine, the next day everything has gone haywire.

I’ll be sat here all nice and calm minding my own business and then from out of nowhere comes the heat.

My God!  The heat!

Jumper off, jumper on, jumper off, jumper on and so it carries on.

It’s madness.

It’s even worse at night, I’m wandering round the bedroom starkers, opening the windows and trying not to wake Boofuls from his snory slumber. Five minutes later I’m slamming the windows shut and climbing back into bed for a quick warm up snuggle.

Yesterday I decided enough was enough. I took myself off to the local herbalist’s and spent a good five minutes ranting about how unfair life is when you’re ’30 plus VAT’  years old and the slow life journey from  Goddess to Crone is getting faster by the minute.

They listened.

I knew they were listening because they had their listening faces on.

At least one of them was listening to me. I’m not sure what the other one was listening to while she was looking in my direction but she was certainly listening to something, I worked it out by the tell tale sign of the wires hanging out of her ears and the rhythmic bobbing of her head that made her look a bit like a mad  bobbing thing – or like this owl:

The one who was actually listening to me clucked sympathetically, sold me some ‘Crone Prevention’ tablets and then said, “Hang on, I have something in the back of the shop you can have that will help you.”

Ooh, I thought, That sounds exciting.

The lady disappeared for a minute and then reappeared  with a big smile on her face, “Here you are,” she said as she handed me…….. a fan.

Hahaahaahaaaaaaa!! That cheered me up no end!!

I left the shop with a fistful of pills and potions, an assurance that I’m not the only woman in the world going through this and that actually I’ve got off quite lightly up to now *touch wood* , a  paper fan (very useful and pretty), an empty purse and a big smile on my face.

It doesn’t take a lot to cheer me up. Nettle tea, anyone?


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