I JUST DON’T GET….
Recently I’ve become more attuned to my body - and I’d like to think that by the time I’m 30 I’ll completely get it and we can work together in some sort of harmonious way for the rest of time. It’s only taken 29 years of me ignoring, disagreeing and generally hating the way my body doesn’t listen to me - to suddenly come to the conclusion that, actually, I’m the one that needs to do the listening . Up until recently, I’ve been treating it like a small, evil mutant twin that I’d prefer to keep locked in the attic. But now I’m prepared to drag out my little secret, give her a make-over and introduce her to the world.
But this fresh understanding is by no means easy – and hormones have a LOT to answer for. Now, I know that the last thing blokes want to read about is a bunch of reasons as to why women can become irrational and down right frightening…but don’t worry. I promise not to use the words “ menstruation” or “tampon”.
And I’m not about to start using hormones as an excuse for the irrationality of women either - don’t get me wrong. Men are just as irrational and don’t have half the hormonal exuses. Twatish behavior generally, as a rule, doesn’t come down to male hormones - it’s usually the result of blokes metaphorically having no balls. Ironic given that, if they were indeed castrated, they may actually be more lovable, calm, and well behaved. After all, it works for Labrador’s – surely it would be the same for blokes? Anyway – I digress…
Whoever invented hormones clearly didn’t think it through. Considering that, as a rule, they are meant to help us multiply - anything that makes you mood swing like a crack addict, burst into tears for no reason whatsoever, and generally make you the most unattractive person to men, should surely not exist. I cry enough as it is - just give me a bottle of red wine..it’s my party trick.
And whilst I often praise myself with having a fairly low-key, everyday tussle with these things, I recently noticed that they were silently creeping in to my existence like a ninja armed with a sword of irrational feelings that I would really rather not have, thank you very much
For instance, I found myself the other day discussing…let’s call him “Mr X” for now….with my flatmate. “Mr X” and I may have shared a couple of cheeky snogs and there had been a lot of textual intercourse… but that was about it. Anyway, I was busily cleaning the kitchen (as my flatmate merrily messed it up again by splattering Thai green curry all over the hob) discussing “Mr X” and the potential we may have as a couple. I was discussing how “Mr X” is also a bit of a clean freak - but that that was OK, because so am I - so when we eventually live together all will be well….
*hand over mouth*.
Yes, you did say that out loud YOU MENTALIST.
Rob my flatmate stopped stirring and looked at me with a mixture of pity and disgust. “Oh, so we’ve already got your future with Mr X planned out have we?”
Back pedal girl…FOR CHRIST SAKE BACK PEDAL.
I kind of whimpered a very strange (what I thought was) indifferent noise, which must have instead sounded something more like a puppy being led to be bludgeoned to death - and promptly took myself off to my room.
What is wrong with me? Whatever THAT was…THAT was not normal for me. Sat there on the edge of my bed, feet askew - I suddenly clicked as to what might be happening. I’ve heard about this. Women talk about this happening. Please no. Not now. Not the “biological clock”?
I’ve never been one of those girly girls who had my wedding planned by aged six, or one of those women who already know the names of my first four children despite my only serious comitted relationship being with my Personal Trainer. Never. In fact, I generally try to think about things one day, and one pub, at a time. I’ve always been a “fly by the seat of your polka dot pants” kinda girl, which is why the cleaning comment really did take me by surprise.
Perhaps this is what happens when you get to a certain age, I thought…and some mongrol crossbreed of cave-woman mentality and ancient biological hormones starts to elbow their way into a very modern subconscious. That’s ok. I can deal with that - if it made any sense. But all the signs were showing that they were not entirely having the desired effect. Not only were they encouraging ridiculous future plans alongside a man with who I’d only shared saliva – but other absurd things started happening too.
For example - I suppose it’s ok for a woman of my age to start to get broody. This is the optimum time for starting a family (so I’ve been told). But my problem was that suddenly I was getting more broody about dogs than children. Seriously…I saw a Jack Russell in the park….wearing a little red jacket…chasing a little ball…looking so happy. I stopped and watched it for a bit, tears coming to my eyes… and got this little turn in my stomach. A maternal instinct…but for a canine. Great. I’m pretty sure that’s not what nature intended
I suppose its ok. I mean at least dogs can be locked in the utility room, or outside in their pen if they get a bit annoying. Apparently you’re not allowed to do that with babies. It’s frowned upon. So if a dog is the one thing that my body wants…that is more than fine by me. Pass me the Pedigree Chum.
However, this has been the tip of the proverbial iceberg – I burst into tears the other day because I couldn’t find my other shoe. At the time it felt like the most soul destroying thing on earth; what had I done to deserve such a thing?
This was to do with me being a horrible, ugly person, right?
I’m a pointless worthless human being who can’t even find her shoe.
I mean – I laugh about it now, but at the time, I was toying with the idea of drowning myself in the bath. But the moment passed. I had some chocolate and all was well in the world.
It took me a while to realise that all of these things were going on, and that this was highly unusual. You would think I would have noticed the mood swings, the suicidal tendancies and the broodiness - but actually, it took for me to notice that my boss was behaving a bit unusual; avoiding me, hiding in other people’s offices, and that every time we were in a room together, he would give me the look of fear similar to a rabbit about to be roadkill. It was only then that I realised that something was afoot…
Then I remembered that about a month ago, I’d changed my pill. That must be it. Surely?
When discussing this with a girlfriend later that day, she casually mentioned “Oh yeah – changing pill makes you crazy. When I did it, I toyed with the idea of asking my boyfriend to marry me about five minutes after bursting into tears because he’d eaten all of the left over cold pizza. My fingernails grew to near talons at breakneck speed and as a result I kept having recurring dreams of my hand being a claw. I changed back and it all went back to normal”.
And, thankfully for all involved with my life, she was right…..a change of pill and a few weeks later I was back to my normal, more balanced self.
Thank god that in this modern day age we have the drug capability to reign in and control these freakish thoughts and tendancies. I know in the back of my mind that perhaps those freakish thoughts and tendancies are, in fact, completely natural and maybe shouldn’t be surpressed….but in essence, they’re not great for the social or the love life. Dogs, emotional outbusts, odd shoes and potential boyfriends - have no place in pubs.
So time to swig down that pill with a glass of wine. And rest assured that things are back to normal.
Although I still would quite like a Jack Russell.