Perimenopause
I Blame Perimenopause for the Unsolicited Crotch Shot
Note to self: Put on some pants
What do you get when you cross a sauna with dementia? I’ll give you a hint.
Drum roll, please!
Wait, I forgot.
Oh, yes, I remember now.
It’s the Big P: Perimenopause.
Nobody told me about this perimenopause dementia thing. Maybe they meant to but forgot.
It feels like my mind is drifting through fog, unable to comprehend normal things in life. Unfortunately, I’m making an absolute ass of myself in the meantime.
First, I sent an unsolicited crotch shot.
“What do you think of these floor samples?” I asked my best friend. I sent her a picture of three sample vinyl planks displayed on my floor.
“It’s kind of hard to look at the floor when….”
“What’s wrong? Is one of them really ugly or something?“ I asked.
It wouldn’t surprise me if she didn’t like them. She disapproves of vinyl flooring, considering it real wood’s evil twin.
“Maybe look at the background,” she responded, laughing.
“Huh?”
“Zoom in,” she said.
I put on my trusty reading glasses and zoomed in for the big reveal.
OMG!
I was mortified.
I’m a private person, and that means my privates are private.
But there it was in the background. Yes, that it. I hadn’t thought about the mirrored wall — or the fact that I had taken off my pants in the midst of a hot flash.
I just sent my best friend a nice clear picture of my hoo-ha! It’s the first and (I hope) last time I ever send anyone a “P pic,” unsolicited or otherwise.
Perimenopause makes me insane.
Sending out a private pic was one thing, but then I lost my head in public.
My fiancé, Nick, and I were grocery shopping when the hot flashes hit.
The logical thing, it seemed, would be to pretend I was looking for frozen vegetables so I could stick my head in the freezer. I probably melted several hundred dollars worth of green beans, but at least I cooled my hot head down.
Only to heat up again when I discovered Nick had put contraband in our cart.
I began lecturing him about the cookie dough and other items he wasn’t supposed to have stuffed in there.
He kept trying to tell me something but I wouldn’t let him get a word in, probably because my attention span is less than that of a middle-aged fly lately.
“Just put the cookie dough away!”
Nick knew I was trying to stay away from treats, and here he had added cookie dough? I huffed with frustration as I loaded my items and started to walk away with the cart.
I heard a voice in the distance.
“Excuse me, Miss?”
I dismissed the innocent bystander. All I could think about is how gosh darn hot I was.
“EXCUSE ME, MISS!”
Still not paying attention, I started unloading most of the items from the cart when a strong hand reached out and grabbed it.
“Ma’am, you’re walking away with my cart!” a man I didn’t know said in a stern voice.
“Whaaaaaat?” I asked, looking like a middle-aged deer in headlights as I realized this wasn’t even my cart.
Yes, I’m a grocery cart thief.
Can you imagine what that poor man thought? You’re minding your own business when someone takes over your cart and criticizes all your shopping choices? “Oh, you’re not getting that chocolate cake! Here, take this squash!”
I ended up walking away, mortified, leaving him to deal with a cart full of my selections. I hope he enjoyed the squash.
This is what perimenopause is like.
How do people live like this? Is this where we got the phrase “hot mess”?
Please tell me I’m not the only one sending out crotch pics, demanding strangers stop buying cookie dough and trying to cram my whole body into the frozen food cases. Please share your perimenopause stories!
And don’t worry, I probably won’t even remember them later. I’ll be somewhere in a corner bare-assed and sweating, reading Medium stories and wishing I’d let my fiancé purchase that cookie dough.
For more about public embarrassment:
About me:
Suzanne Tyler writes about body positivity, happiness, her experiences with OCD/anxiety and the humorous (and sometimes heartbreaking) journey of life.
