Have you considered menopause as being dangerous?
I don’t know. I suspect menopause is different for everyone who experiences it. I think in my house it will be most dangerous for my husband. I very nearly always like him and I’d like for him to get through this stage in our life intact.
Perhaps an education is what he needs. Or a guide. A menopausal GPS, of sorts, for his upcoming trip.
Keep your stupid menopause jokes to yourself
I mean this is the kindest of ways, my darling. Light of my life. Sweet britches. You aren’t as goddamn funny as you think you are. Ask yourself this question: Is telling that lame ass menopause joke worth having a mascara wand shoved through your nostril into your frontal lobe? Lobotomy via Maybelline gets ugly.
Tropical moments don’t mean we’re on vacation
If I’ve said the words “I’m hot” the danger is upon you. It’s in your best interest to start opening windows and turning on fans. If I’m hot, your comfort is no longer a consideration. The only thing you need to focus on is lowering the temperature. Put on a sweater if you’re cold.
No, I don’t hate you, but my hormones really dislike you
Give the hormones five minutes and they’ll love you again. Unless there’s a tropical moment. Or unless you just told another joke.
Don’t take it personally, asshole
We also need to come to an agreement that ‘asshole’ is now an acceptable term of endearment. Personally, I feel that my ability to more freely speak my mind as personal growth. I can see how you might not be as enamored with my new freedom as I am. On the other hand, don’t be an asshole about it.
Understanding goes a long way
Agreeing with me goes even further. I am just as confounded by a lot of these changes as you are. I am also confused by a lot of things I hear falling out of my mouth hole. Be patient. One of us has to be.
Don’t expect logic, Mr. Spock
Do you have any idea how often you don’t make sense? The way I see it, it’s my turn. Accept that laughter and tears in a 10 minute period is the new norm. It’s also possible that any youtube video you show me will invoke tears. Even the ones of screaming goats.
Stop humping my leg
Seriously, I’m about to re-enact at least three scenes from The Exorcist. And for fuck’s sake, sometimes I need to bend over to pick something up. Resist the urge. I know you’ve gotten away with this behavior for years, but trust me when I tell you this. Molesting me when I’m trying to get the dishwasher fluid from under the sink is going to end badly for you. Very, very badly.
Boobs are now a grope free zone
They hurt. If you don’t believe me, perhaps a demo swat to your testicular area might convince you.
Why yes, I’m developing the “old lady odor”
You could try convincing me that you like my new smell. Risky, yes, and will probably end in tears. Best to just claim to not notice or you could just spend a couple hundred bucks at Sephora. Cheap ass.
Turn up the fan high and pray for a polar vortex
Don’t even think about draping your arm or leg over me. Keep your stomach to yourself. Don’t rest your hand on me. Don’t breath your hot breath on my neck or in my ear. In fact, keep both hands and one leg hanging over the side of the bed.
Don’t roll your eyes or sigh deeply or make any comments if I turn the heat up or down in the car so rapidly that the twirling dial is keeping beat with the music. I also don’t want to hear about how you are cold. Pretend you’re Charles Ingalls and shut your face hole.
Also, stop breathing and chewing so loud. Quit reloading the dishwasher after I load it and don’t start any conversations with ‘we need to have a talk’ unless the next words out of your mouth are earth shattering.
There’s a storm a comin’
Just ride it out with me, baby. From what I understand, the storm doesn’t last forever. Just for years. Up to 7 or more. Good luck.
(This post originally ran on Rubber Shoes in Hell.)
About the author: Michelle Poston Combs writes humorous and serious observations on life, menopause, anxiety, and marriage on her popular site, Rubber Shoes In Hell. She lives in Ohio with her husband and youngest son. She stands at the precipice of empty nest syndrome which she finds both terrifying and exhilarating. Michelle programs computers to pay the bills. She counters this soul sucking endeavor by contributing to best selling author Jen Mann’s anthology I Still Just Want To Pee Alone, HuffingtonPost, and Better After 50.
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