So today started fairly ok. I had to get up at 3am and have a shower due to either hot flush or the flu. Am not sure which. But then I went back to sleep and slept solidly til 9am. I felt most smug when I got up as I have Christmas sorted this year. One of the few benefits I am finding of the menopause is that less and less fucks are given as time goes on. So instead of weeks of prep I ordered a massive steak pie from the butcher and bought frozen roast potatoes and frozen parsnips from Tesco. I then asked all my guests to bring between them a starter, a pudding, cheese and biscuits – and all their own booze. Done!! I can now laze about all day. Aided by my lovely dog walking friend who has no dogs of her own and so wants to come and take my dog up a munro – double hooray.
Following on with my natural approach to my menopause symptoms, I mix a soya yogurt with an egg and chia seeds and some porridge oats and frozen fruit and pop it all in the oven for 40 minutes. I am still a bit fluey (not sure if due to that lady care magnet but giving it benefit of doubt for now and still wearing) and I spy a little tiny bottle of whisky. I mix it into a cup with lemon and some honey – blitz it in microwave and head through to watch some telly while my breakfast gets ready. I feel quite proud of my ‘no stress’ christmas – get me at 20 to 11 drinking whisky with nothing to do.
20 to 11…. 20 to 11…. FUCK…. FUCKITY FUCK…. The bastarding steak pie that I ordered last week. The butcher warned me that i MUST get it by 11am or he will be closed. He called me yesterday to remind me. I forget everything so I put it on a postit on the kettle. But I didn’t have tea did I… No I had to have bloody whisky.
I drag on some jogging trousers, tuck my nightie in, pull on my trainers and grab the car keys. Oh no – the bloody whisky!! Am I over the limit? Can’t risk it. Grab dog as she needs a walk and may as well kill two birds with one stone and tear our the house. Tear back two mins later to turn off oven containing my lovely healthy breakfast. Tear back out again. Five minutes into fast walk/slow jog Dog starts to ominously start twirling that always ends in a massive shit. And FUCK I have no poo bags. None – I forgot to lift them. A fellow dogwalker takes sympathy and gives me two – just in case. I almost cry with gratitude, scoop up the massive shit and toss it in the bin and keep running. I have to get to the butcher or we have no christmas main course. I try not to berate myself as the mindfulness part of my menopause book says to be kind to yourself. But for gods sake – I had ONE BLOODY JOB!!
I get there at 2 mins past 11 – and thank god there are two people in front of me. I take a breath and realise I have forgot my phone… And remember the dog walking lady… NO NO NO – I cannot miss her – I’d forgotten she was coming. I need Dog tired out. And now I can’t phone her.
The butchers daughter comes out with a tub of celebrations – chocolate is good. And she is only 11 and doesn’t say anything or judge when I take 4. I go to pop one in my mouth and smell something horrible. It is dog poo….. on my nail. The rushed scooping lead to a smear of shit – on ME!. I wipe it on my jogging trousers and scoff the chocolates. I get my steak pie and head off at a run to try and get back for Dog Walking Lady.
But Dog can smell the steak pie. Dog wants steak pie. Dog jumps up and adds muddy dog prints to her shit stains onto my trousers. Dog continues in this manner all the way home. She is nothing if not persistent. Resist urge to kick bloody dog. It is pissing down and me, Dog and pie all getting soaked.
We get back. I strip my shit covered paw stained trousers and all the rest of my clothes and fling them in the washing machine – chuck in the bold and turn it on. My healthy breakfast is all disgustingly half cooked and cold so I chuck it out. Fuck it – I am having what I had planned for christmas breakfast tomorrow – my favourite – morning roll with thick butter, tomato ketchup, lorne sausage and a potato scone. I stick the sausage in the oven – bit healthier if I grill rather than fry it – and fling some chia seeds on the butter in the roll. I need to at least make an effort. I run upstairs – quick shower and dressing gown on – then tank back down for my breakfast.
There is an ominous clunk clunk coming from the washing machine. FUCK – it is my fanny magnet. My £35 fanny magnet. Not even 48 hours old. In the washing machine. I frantically google to find out if it is still effective after such an ordeal. But of course this is related to the menopause so answers to such sensible questions are not to be found.
Give up and retreat to the TV to watch the Bette Davies and Joan Crawford feud that I recorded from last night (there are two women who were defo menopausal during Baby Jane!) with my amazing breakfast which does cheer me up.
In all the stuff I have read about symptoms of the menopause, ‘memory lapses and fuzzy thinking’ appear as a simple bullet point. This post is just one tiny example of what that little bullet point means in real life!!!
Christmas Eve – so signing off and off to open the wine. The advice is that alcohol is not good for menopausal women.
I beg to feckin differ!!!
Merry Christmas Everyone!