Just Call me Mrs. Lucky by Jan From Woodgate

Pour on the hot coals, cause this train ain’t stoppin’

Times they are a’changin. As luck would have it, just as I’m slowly exiting out of Menopause Land, several of my dear friends are just arriving on the doorstep of doom.

How incredibly lucky are these gals to have me and my oodles of experience on the subject?

Darn lucky, say I, and I’m only here to help.

Read on for some useful hints, tips, and strategies on surviving the daily battle which is becoming your life:

• Layers, layers, and more layers. That is how you shall dress from now on. Unflippin-believable how the body temp can roll like that, but trust me it happens.

One minute dripping like a boxer, the next huddling in a shawl.

Nothing, EVER, around the neck area—this will just result in ring around the collar and nobody likes to see that.

• Stay on your toes. Admittedly, being on constant high alert has its setbacks—i.e. stress and anxiety levels dangerously elevated—but the payoff is so worth it.

When one remains vigilant the chances of unwelcome little surprises are lowered. Head ’em off at the pass.

Catch the dirty socks in midair before they hit the floor, cuz if you don’t someone’s life is in danger.

Disable all noise making devices that offend you.

This will eliminate the possibility of having to toss said device into the fireplace or smash it over a beloved family member’s skull.

• Stop looking. Seems endless hours are spent traveling room to room in search of… what?

Nobody, especially you, knows this answer.

If you’re halfway to a spot and can’t remember why you’re going, then just call off the whole mission. It’s not gonna come back to you so fuhgettaboutit.

Also, be sure to return all items to the same spot, each and every time, or they’re gone forever.

Trivial stuff like scissors or scotch tape, when missing, can cause an episode like you just can’t believe.

Makes you hunt down the culprit that was last seen using the item and turn into a hideous version of Judge Judy.

Do yourself a favor—go buy a new one.

• The Howler. Any Harry Potter fans out there? If so, who could forget The Howler?

Genius I tell ya. Absolutely adore that Molly Weasley who was no doubt in the throes of pure blood witchly menopause for the duration of the series.

Wow, what fun I could’ve had with those powers! The possibilities are endless…

So anyway, The Howler: a magical letter that arrives by owl in a red envelope which plays a recorded message at high volume.

You will become very much like the Howler with one larger-than-life difference—you’ll be face to face with the recipient.

Oh, the expressions on husbands’ faces everywhere as wifey wildly screams him down for the unspeakable crime of blinking too much.

Or swallowing too loud.

Or saying good morning with a ‘tone.’

Do not repress the screaming as this causes inner turmoil. They just have to learn to suck it up, walk away, and never EVER respond to a full blown Howl.

• Long nights. This train never stops chugging—you will spend tons of time, at night, not sleeping.

After being awakened by what feels like the flames of hell and finding your pillow in a soggy state you will need to climb out of bed.

First the mini bath over the sink, the replacing of the pillow case which is then followed by those happy little chills, well there ya are—wide awake at two a.m.

Resist that overwhelming urge to return to your bed—this will only result in fitful, angry tossing and turning.

Next thing ya know he’s snoring and you’re sweating again.

So no, that’s not the answer.

Instead y’all just head for the living room, maybe a bit of whacko late night TV (the remote is all yours), some quiet reading, or my personal choice… snack. Do not fight this… chooo-choooo.

• Your Honor. Practice those words because there’s a very, very good chance that you’ll be using them.

“I swear, Your Honor, it was the day from hell. If you could’ve seen how uncooperative that evil roll of tin foil became! I HAD to use the sharpest knife available to try to salvage even a scrap, and then HE came home from work and had the audacity to chuckle to himself, but I heard it alright, and then the knife, well it just… let’s just say it had a mind of its own. So clearly you can see that this was not my fault, and really, he DOES have another eye… Your Honor.

Situations, girls. A plethora of scenerios come to mind, all of which you will learn to deal with as they arise. Names will be called. Feelings will be hurt.

It’s only for a decade or so, but remember, this is all about YOU.

If they get whiney or start feeling unloved don’t be shy about stating the fact that their pain and aggravation does not compare with yours.

Okay now my friends, ready, set, SWEAT!

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