The Good, The Bad and The Ugly Passenger on the Bus - PMT and Menopause

Did you ever have that sight test where you look into some kind of machine and you see a bus, and they ask you which row the passenger is sitting in? And if you are like me, you say 'What passenger?' And then you realise, suddenly, inexplicably, there's a passenger sitting in mid air about 50 yards behind the bus ...

Well, today, on a crankiness scale of 1-10, like the passenger, I am off the scale. I knew from the off it was going to be a bad day. For one thing, it's Monday. For another, I had to go to work. For another,  it started with a parking ticket. €40, my friends, on top of the €220 for those excellent Pirellis last week. You could get a week in Spain for that kind of money. Yes, I was illegally parked but for goodness sake I have PMT (that's PMS to my US readers) and cannot be expected to walk any more than I can be expected to forego my coffee in the moring. 

Then, at work, I was freezing all morning before the inner themostat switched unexpectedly and I burned up for the afternoon. It really improves the mood to know your colleagues can see you sitting there with a face so red it would frighten the Big Bad Wolf. And add to that breathless (Did you know that breathless may also be a menopause symptom?)

I am not going to bore you further with the details of the crankiness because, let's face it, if you're looking for menopause tips, then I don't need to teach my grandmother to suck eggs on the PMT front. What I do find somewhat suprising is that it no longer necessarily heralds a period since even on the missed months, the PMT still shows up for a couple of days.


Fortunately, I'm so cranky, I was able to fly home unaided on my BRRRRRRRRoooooooom stick so I've saved on the petrol (that's gas, to you US folks and anything but gas to you Irish folks). Ahhh. Home sweet home. Thank goodness for the empty nest, the sweet sound of silence, the soothing glass of cabernet sauvignon, and the prospect of dinner sometime this side of midnight. Turn on Michael Buble, darling. Menopause. It's not all bad.