Did I Not Make Myself Clear?

You see, scrabble. There's another tension release. I like it. It engages my brain and makes me feel good. But imagine if I nudged himself at 5.30am as the dawn chorus sounded and asked him for a few scrabble clues.
DO YOU NOT GET IT GENTLEMEN?????????

Running Out Of Girl Germs

Isn't it funny how you never think you'll get to this stage in life. I mean, why do we think that? What's the alternative? Premature demise I guess, but we never think of that when we are smugly examining our cellulite free thighs in the mirror at 25.

Living a long, happy life actually includes aging whether we realise it or not in our frivolous youth. We regarded our mother's paunchy stomachs with pity. We assumed that if we exercised, stayed healthy and made use of all the latest age defying cosmetics, we would somehow avoid the decline that comes, not slow and steady like the tide, but in a series of shuddering jerks; rather like watching mud or sand break off a river bank through the action of water. As the years proceed, we watch pieces of our former selves fall away into the abyss, never to be regained.

There's the chunk of us that is our comfortable weight. For years I was 53kg...and I mean years! After I had the Baby Angel in 1995, I was quickly back to 53kg albeit looking a little gaunt and wan. At 40 I was suddenly a stable 58kg. As another decade approaches I wallow in 64kg misery. I feel like I am wearing a sumo suit.

As the oestrogen leaves the building, there is the decline in skin tone. At 40 I bemoaned my deep sun damaged lines; now I observe with horror the crepey skin of my neck and the sag of jowls at my jawline.

There is the desperate 6 weekly visit to the hairdresser to cover the ever more obvious grey at the roots.

How did I get to this place?

But the physical changes that dog us are only one side of the cruel hormone depletion joke. There is also the change in your brain. Things which would normally cause us to sigh in exasperation or laugh indulgently now spark an inferno of rage; minor concerns become 'wake at night' worries; a workload which has until now been an enjoyable challenge becomes a ball and chain like drudge.
And it is here that I find myself, four months shy of 50 and on the girly scrap heap.

Not a pleasant sensation.

I hope you will all cut me some slack; although slack seems to be the 'word of the day' at the moment where my body is concerned.
What sadistic asshole put this campaign together? Like they thought we would appreciate a picture of a 25 year old doing menopause her way??? ie NOT doing it!!!!!!!

Sheesh.