A small diatriabe about being an elderly chick of 40-summat :
And its REALLY a nuisance when people try to blame my human inconsistencies on the frickin' menopause.
1. Just cos I throw a strop - its NOT the menopause.
Its because I am as pissed off as I ever was, but I was formerly too sweet, polite and self-effacing to TELL you so. When I punch you now, it means that I would have punched you back then when I was 30, only I was worried about breaking my fist and not being able to type and make a decent living as a secretary, and support all you lazy bastards, okay?
c. When I go for a smear, and am "dry down there" it is NOT the menopause.
If the nurse is an incompetent old hag who prods me severally with a speculum, and then fails to achieve her job its not the menopause, LUV ... its because I am fucked off that it is only 9am - at which time I am normally asleep, snuggled up beside someone who DOES actually make me properly lubricated simply by their sheer presence, whereas you, you horrible little wizened old dragon ... you have a nasty cramped little office, probably the entire surgery can hear you telling me to take my knickers off, thanks but I don't want half a dozen African men knowing I have removed my knickers, I did DRESS conservatively so as NOT to attract their attention to me already ...
- AND my knees are squashed against the wall
- AND I am fed up of you lecturing me just because the PCT says you have to
- AND I don't even particularly like you, let alone having to have you peering at my minge and trying to make jocularisms about how I "missed a bit"whilst shaving.
... and thank you, but I am not interested in admitting to you when the last time I had a shag was, but it was with someone I actually wanted to be prodding me with much gentler fingers than yours, I can reassure you, there was certainly no problem like that then, madam ... could it be that pissing me off every time I walk in here, not listening to me, and then proceeding to winch me open, whilst muttering inanely about inconsequential shit like taking up salsa lessons or line fucking dancing, whilst gouging around in my normally much more responsive undercarriage is what has made me a bit anxious, and hence my muscles keep forcing your stupid fucking speculum OUT again.
* Plus, you old witch, missing a period does NOT mean the menopause.
It means that I am variously worried about (a) my very painful shoulder which your boss will not give me the proper treatment for; (b) my dad having cancer 12000 miles away; compounded by (c) the fact that I actually MIGHT be pregnant having been completely careless round about Valentines Day (which I feel is entirely appropriate) ... rather than kerbing my lust until a more conceptionally convenient time of the month.
3. I am not turning down the heating and opening the windows because I am having hot flushes.
I am doing so because I like fresh air that does not smell of sweaty armpits/groins/trainers/beer/whiskey/fags and/or farts, thank you very much, boys. Have you not noticed that in the SEVERAL years you have slept with me, that I have not only slept with the window open but that I have also opened the curtains (because you certainly complained loud enough when I did) ... No, thats not the menopause at ALL, my dears, that would be because I come from a country where the air is fresh and clean, and a stuffy London fleapit of a flat in April does not need the heating on the WHOLE time.
So, the menopause:
I'm not fucking there, yet, motherfuckers, and when I am you will wish you hadn't razzed me about it for all that time, cos payback is a bitch ... with a capital B.
Thank you.
Peace, man.
