If you’re male, you’re probably not going to want to read this post

Female hormones have a great deal to answer for.

Firstly, I spilled coffee on myself and my chair in the office. Having cleaned up that mess as best I could, I went to make myself another coffee… and promptly threw an entire carton of milk all over the kitchen in what can only be described as a spill of Exxon Valdez proportions.

After mopping it all up and scrubbing the place down (nothing worse than the smell of stale milk in a hot climate), I finally returned to my chair, sat down, and stubbed my toe.

When the howling had subsided it was time for an afternoon of trying to a) keep my eyes open while my body resolutely informed me that I needed to sleeeeeeeeeeeeeep b) trying to sit in such a way that my lower back and abdomen weren’t aching above acceptable levels and c) resisting the urge to growl at anyone who approached me with a perfectly reasonable request, but without a propitiatory gift of dark chocolate.

That was Day 1.

Day 2 dawned bright and early; very early in fact, because I had to be at the gym by 6:30am for run club. I hadn’t run in over a week because I’d hurt my back moving house (don’t ask – this is what comes of being a 5’10” Amazon; occasionally one forgets that one is not, in fact, made of adamantium) so I was looking forward to a bit of a trot with the chaps at run club. Five minutes in and DISASTER STRUCK. Namely, that awful feeling of leakage. Heavier than usual flow has been a hallmark of my last few periods due, I think, to the pill; I’m still adjusting to it and was stupidly ill-prepared. So, I had to make my excuses and bail. God knows what they thought as I walked very slowly back up the hill, thighs pressed together, internal muscles tightly clenched.

I sorted all of that nonsense, inwardly fuming at myself and my body [I know, I know, given that Ed and I want to have a family I should be glad of this evidence of normal service] and decided to stay in my sports gear and run at lunchtime by myself instead. Which I did. Then I returned to the office – puce-faced and dripping with perspiration – and had a shower… at which point I discovered that in my haste to get to run club on time that morning, I had carefully packed jeans, tshirt, belt and shoes but no underwear. Splendid. That is just what the office needs, the Images Manager going commando to the four o’clock editorial meeting.

And, of course, we were all going out to the Night Noodle Markets that evening, straight from work, so I had to put up with feeling slightly uncomfortable in my skinny jeans as well as rather foolish all evening.

A large plate of pancakes with strawberries, whipped cream and chocolate sauce helped take the edge off, though, I have to admit.

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3 Responses to If you’re male, you’re probably not going to want to read this post

  1. All of a sudden hot flashes seem to be no big deal! Oh, I remember those days all too well. Leakage… God, that word brings back memories. And the questions I used to have, like “Why does blood have to be so bloody red?” and “When is science going to invent a product that Actually Works?” The truth is, in my younger days, I finally stumbled on something that did actually work for me, and that was to use my diaphragm (the BC device, not the muscle) to catch menstrual blood and to clean out it frequently. You do want to clean it often or you risk toxic shock syndrome. (I know, I know, for any guys this comment is now in the WTMI phase!)

    And WHY is it that things like spilling coffee, milk, stubbing toes and other serial small disasters seem to happen when we are LEAST able to cope???

    I really like the final treatment, and I believe that pancakes with strawberries, whipped cream and chocolate sauce may be the universal nostrum we all need! I just may try that treatment for my minor depression…. which probably is not really hormone related but more like life related. However, the dose would probably be appropriate anyway!

    Whatever else, this is true: In a few days, you will be all better!

  2. Stephen Kahn says:

    Having been married for 45 years, I have learned to

    remain in discreet silence.

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