02 Feb 12 Venom Laced Demon Spawn

 

I was feeling pretty low as I have been very stressed and grumpy lately. There is a combination of things going on that are unavoidable that I also cannot escape; mainly menopause, and remodeling our house for the upcoming sale of it. As with most marriages, it is a strain on the relationship to remodel a house. Each person wants different ideas, preferred products, colors and styles. Trying to work within a budget doesn’t help, especially when getting the work done is more important than the budget you are trying to set.

So hubby and I have been grumping at each other quite heartily lately, and he sat me down and asked me if part of my grumpiness was menopausal.

Well, I never!

How could menopause possibly have anything to do with my current mood? It’s not like I am flying off the handle when he walks into the room, and his mere presence irritates me to the core.

Oh, wait, yes it does.

It’s not like I am super moody and crying at the drop of a hat!

Oh, wait, yes I am.

Fine, but it has nothing to do with the fact that I can’t sleep and the hot flashes are like walking into a sauna fully clothed, but you are never someplace where you could strip down to be more comfortable.

Um, well, that may have something to do with it all.

We women totally get the shaft, I thought. We get to have PMS, monthly periods, pregnancies (don’t get me started on childbirth!), mammograms, and menopause. We age faster than our husbands, require bras because the girls will not stay in one place, and actually have the nerve to head south as time marches on like a worn out rubber band that has lost its elasticity. We gain weight no matter what we do, and now we can’t lose it anymore, so none of our clothes fit. Our hormones go out of control and yet we are considered unstable even though it took every ounce of self control not to beat you to death with the spoon I was holding in my hand when you mentioned that perhaps a second helping of ice cream was not the best idea.

 For some strange reason, misery loves company. Us gals can get together, even standing in line at the checkout stand, and go on and on about how horrible menopause is, hug each other, support each other, and so on. Then the phone rings, it is hubby. The friendly demeanor changes in a nano second to demon spawn. We spout venom laced retorts to innocuous questions to fearful men on the other end. Upon finishing the conversations with our hubby’s, we hang up the phone, turn to our new best friend of 2 minutes and go “MEN!”

We shake our heads in mutual understanding and part ways as bosom buddies, never to meet again.

Anyhow, back to the question my hubby posed to me: Does my mood have anything to do with menopause? As I looked at him, I could see real fear in his eyes. He knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that asking me that question was like handing me a loaded weapon. I could see him gauging my expression and fearfully looking around the room for somewhere to dive for cover when I exploded. Since he has had a tour in Iraq, he knows how to find cover fast if the situation warrants.

That is when I realized, I don’t have is as bad after all. See, as much as I hate what I am going thru, I would sure hate to be him right now.

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