Middle-Aged Women With Puppies

Arthur Guinness

My sister and I are not afraid to tell you that we are menopausal.
There are a ton of women, including one I work with, who constantly tells me she’s never had any hot flashes, night sweats or psychotic tendencies. I tend to disagree with her as I’ve seen her go off about small things that would usually roll off anyone else’s back and if I were her, I’d just say that these fits of nature is the mid-life crisis that we are all going to go through whether we like it or not. If this is her normal behavior, I think a Xanax would be in order.
I believe that having menopause to blame is a fine thing. As I’m too tired and not up for an affair with a stranger and too broke for a little red sports car, I’m just embracing the menopause thing and hoping we get through it unscathed. I must admit, I’ve tried to live recently like I was still 21. Yeah, that’s working for me. (Snark :/)
“Why are you crabby?” A random person might ask me.
“Because I’m menopausal and I will cut you,” I respond before falling into a pile of tears over the cuteness of an aardvark in a sweater or realizing that I have lived over half my life and have little to show for it. I then go lock myself in a closet with a bag of Cheetos, blaring music that was popular in 1983 and hit my head repeatedly against the door for getting into news.
See, it’s a great tool, this menopause thing, as an excuse to be a blubbering mess.
I jest, but it sort of sucks.
Homer turns 41 on May 12th. She asked me a few weeks ago if some of the feelings she was having are the first signs of menopause. (For you younguns out there, go back to being a12-year-old girl and then multiply your confusion over your body changing by three. That’s the way it feels and I’m being very realistic here.)
I told her I thought that probably was what was going on.
“Turning 40 was cool,” I said. “But turning 41 was, you know, being in your forties and for some reason, that was horrible.”
“Yeah,” she responded. “When did this happen?”
I think I said something like I didn’t know and then we got caught up in a whirlwind of puppy drama. Puppy Drama is a staple at Chez Coma since the great puppy-off of Aught Nine. Although all the puppies have good homes and are gone, there is still the one pup that Homer fell in love with still in the house and Mama Pinks, who is probably not even a year old.
So there are basically two puppies in this abode with two menopausal sisters named Pinks and Arthur Guinness. Arthur is a mouthy little guy and constantly tries to stand on Mabel, who doesn’t like it, as she is a regal old lady. Well, regal is pushing it but she’s my youngest dog and she’s 10. Pinks, on the other hand, just runs and slides a lot. This is her favorite game. Run, then slide across the hardwood floors, then she runs again. Pinks is endearing herself to me because she looks like she’s always smiling and she howls like a coyote. I like that. She won’t be smiling in about a month when she visits the vet, but that’s another story for another day.
Squirrel Queen calls Pinks two names: Curtis and Goose. I have no idea why.
What were we talking about?
Oh, yeah, menopause.
Did I mention it blows?