I recently had a fling with someone. Actually, it never got to the fling stage. I over thought it, over analysed it, over freaked out about it, and then realised it just wasn’t a good idea to have it.
It’s called being sensible.
I think the sensible bit comes with being older and the being older bit is what freaks me out.
And so I was hanging with friends, mostly because I love my friends, mostly to get over the fling that was never a fling, and happened to mention that my ankles creak every morning.
‘It’s the weirdest thing,’ I said. ‘A creak…’
‘Well of course they creak,’ they replied in unison. ‘It’s called menopause.’
‘Oh what utter bullshit,’ I replied. ‘It’s for a few seconds when I wake up. It’s stiffness, from my heels, my shoes …’
‘MENOPAUSE,’ they all yelled back. ‘It’s because your joints are not as well oiled as they used to be.’
My ankles are A TEENY bit stiff because of menopause?
I got a little defensive.
‘It’s not menopause, girlfriends. It’s for three seconds flat and that’s it, it’s got nothing to do with my hormones.’
I changed the subject quickly. I don’t want to have to think about my changing hormones.
I don’t want to think about oiling my ankles.
I don’t want to have to think about oiling any other parts of me.
I do not want to get old.
We started talking about gardening and pool chemicals and that felt MUCH TOO OLD so we moved on to moisturiser and lipsticks and everything except my almost fling, and halfway through I forgot what I was talking about and everyone yelled at me again.
I may have been a bit dramatic in response.
‘I’m a little distracted dammit, this has nothing to do with menopause. Just because you’re all going through it, I am not. Leave me alone.’
I was a little grumpy.
Because apparently I am menopausal.
Not because I didn’t have that fling.