I'm feeling hostile. Why am I feeling hostile? I'll tell you why-
I have no idea!
It started out as any other day a few days ago, and something set me off- someone blinked too loud, somebody else yawned, and the cats were giving me the stink-eye because I didn't cater to their petting whims-especially when Scootch decided to sit on my mouse as I was using it.
This Momma Bear hostility has been building and building ever since. Then I realized I'm probably on the edge of menopause. If this is just the edge of it, I'm in big trouble!
I remember when my mother went through it- she would have given a charging dragon pause. But since there aren't any dragons to wrestle, she took her hormones out on the family instead, yelling at me for folding the socks wrong or dad for being male. We gave her a wide berth for the next five years.
I consider myself lucky- I have more people to vent my spleen on (including the cats), so if I spread it around enough, the family won't lock me in the basement. My husband is a lucky man- he's doing overtime for the next three weeks and I'll hardly see him. In the meantime I have to find other ways of getting rid of this aggressive mind-set other than Velcroing the kids to the wall and shaving the cats.
Then I came to an awesome conclusion.
Women going through the Big Pause should have chew toys. They should make them look like chocolate cake, ribs, or a certain male body part. But they don't make those kind as chew toys. But pet stores are a different story. Right now I'd favor the rubber chicken leg or the steak, minus the squeaker- The noise would just annoy me further.
And why do they call it menopause anyway? It's not a pause, it's a stop. A slowing-to-a-stop kind of stop. An annoying kind of stop. Well, it's annoying to me at the moment- but people breathing near me is annoying, so maybe I'm just biased.
But I don't think I'll last five years. That's a lot of chew toys.
I wonder just how comfortable I'll be in the basement. I think if I had my laptop and some sewing projects, my chew toys and a couch, I'd be fine. At least people wouldn't be blinking and breathing around me all the time.
Maybe I'll take a walk to the local pet store and see what they have. I wonder if they'll sell me a chew toy if it's for my use. If the cashier is a woman, I bet she'll sell me two, because she understands!
If you need me, I'll probably be locked in the basement, chewing on my brand-new chicken leg and possibly a box of chocolate.