Menopause and Mooncups
I should be up in beautiful, classy Edinburgh this weekend, as its my turn to travel, however my aged parental dog sitters have very inconsiderately decided to spend a fortnight on their narrow boat - how dare they have a life! As the incomparable Eddie lives with Bec and family and Dude likes to attempt to ingest small animals, I'm marooned at home.
Rather than forgo the weekend walking altogether Bec bravely drove down to the non classy Midlands, so that we could walk anyway. Its peaceful in my house, and she doesn't have to cook - always wonderful when you are head chef for the family.
The peace was shattered last night when another of my female friends came over. I don't know how many men read this blog (read on men, read on...) but once 3 women are in a room together with alcohol, a mini coven is formed....
Our new visitor is newly separated and at the bitter stage. Which is vile when suffering it but amusing when you have been through it multiple times...
Bec and I ably assisted her through this emotional moment by telling all the stories that we have about men, both good and bad. I have many bad stories being somewhat over married, (optimism above realism was my lodestone for years) and hundreds of funny stories. There's the one about the 23 year old in a wine bar, the Spanish Bull Fighter (remind me to share that one - its hilarious) The Tree Surgeon, the tattooed up body builder with a penchant for spanking....as I held forth I realised that my Newly Separated Mate was looking a bit bewildered.
Inappropriate bullfighter encounter
Bec at this point was snorting with laughter;
'tell the one about the BullFighter again' she guffaws.
So I did....
As the evening wore on and the wine was consumed it became apparent to Bec and I that Newly Separated Mate really wanted to find someone to be with...
We decided to induct her into the coven proper..because obviously this would help..
A slight squabble ensued when I referred to Bec (and myself) as hags - we overcame the semantics of that particular appellation and drank some more wine.....whilst explaining to my poor confused Newly Separated Mate all about the power of the universe, burying men under terracotta in the South West corner of ones property and presenting her with a book on house witchery.
Newly Separated Mate left early, can't work out why..
This morning sees Bec and I out of bed before 8, either side of the kitchen table, drinking proper breakfast tea and eating porridge - with me typing furiously, in an effort to share my witty and charming take on life.....and Bec reading out excerpts from The Spectator (a new subscription and one I am very chuffed with). Bec and I are both huge fans of the proper use of pronouns.
Strange how you can share space with some people and feel totally chilled and fine yet others make ones skin itch...
Having Googled 'walks near me' (what would we do without Google? How would I know where to walk to? Would one have to purchase an OS map - do they still make these?) several times over the last year, it has come to our attention that there is a walk that is always top of the list ......and we have been ignoring it! The reason it hasn't yet been undertaken is that it s a 12 mile one and we were too scared.
Today, we have decided is the day!
Fanfare required here, please imagine one.
7, yes 7 hours of walking, if you never hear from us again, its because we have got lost, died of exhaustion and exposure and now sit skeletal in our walking gear, as a warning to other rashly brave ramblers who stray off the mandated path, to be lost in the wilds of Leicestershire.....
Once we decided that we were doing a big old challenging walk, the next issue is that of being menopausal...
Now Bec has sensibly gone for handling her menopausal symptoms by having a Merina coil fitted - this controls her stabbier urges and frankly makes our walking discussions less laced with threats to kill men.
I haven't yet enjoyed the stabby urges.
No Dear Reader, my symptoms circle repeatedly around every joint in my body aching and a menstrual cycle that is sociopathic in nature. In comparison, wanting to randomly stab every single male on the planet sounds like a ball!
My socoipathic menstrual cycle has considerable drawbacks.
The main one of which is that it knows no guilt when it comes to arriving. No warning, no notice just a flood, this wonderous moment can occur anywhere at any time, shops, restaurants, in fact often in a place designed for maximum embarrassment.
I have taken to travelling with a change of knickers in my handbag - once upon a time - during what Bec and I refer to as the slut years (don't lie - everyone has them) having a change of knickers in my handbag was a sign that sex was a definite maybe - not any more - these days its about damage limitation.
As all women know menstrual protection is bloody uncomfortable, and not really what you want to do anywhere without an actual loo....so my problem when out walking is how to prepare for the almost inevitable onslaught...
Having tried every form of sanitary protection known to woman kind, and finding all of it lacking in some way, I recently decided to purchase a mooncup - any moment I will be knitting my own yoghurt from wild mink fluff....
For those who don't know, these handy little appliances are shaped like a tiny womb and collect all the blood in one handy receptacle - if you can get the fucking thing inside you in the first place.
The instructions show you how to 'fold' said rubberised teeny womb and insert into appropriate orifice....this is only achievable if you have 18 arms and a spine like a contortionist!
Once, or rather IF, you manage this there is a concerning lack of means of removal, apparently, patience is the answer here and gravity will assist.
This causes a level of anxiety for me - will it just drop out whilst I'm walking? Surely that would be much worse than previously? So all in all I'm in a bit of a tizz...and can't decide between new sanitary solution or a traditional intervention....the autumn mornings fly by in Leicestershire I can tell you.
As we sit discussing the menopause and how fucking unfair it is being a woman, Bec notices the Black white and grey chevron design tea towel, delicately adorning the from of my cooker -
She points at it accusingly,
'What's that? I thought you only used terry towelling nappies as T-towels?'
'That's the display T-Towel' I respond, slightly surprised that anyone needs to ask...Surely everyone has a display T-towel?
It would however appear that no, not everyone has a display T-towel..
She is crying with laughter.
I will get her later.