I go into the kitchen and stand there for a bit.
I must have wanted something but I can’t remember it
I break into a rolling sweat at least ten times a day
And when I tell the doctor he just says it’s nature’s way
Each morning starts with tweezing out the newly burgeoned stubble
Until my face resembles newly excavated rubble
Elsewhere I’m less hirsute but that’s the only thing that’s thinning
The rest of me is spreading, dropping, falling off or minging
My fingernails all crack and break, my bones are frail as china
It used to be my wit was dry but now it’s my vagina
My mouth tastes like a rusty spoon, my bladder’s prone to leaking
I’m too wet, too dry, all at once, no wonder I’m not sleeping
My bowels could launch the Hindenburg — wouldn’t you be flummoxed
If you suddenly acquired one more chin and two more stomachs?
So don’t you dare say mood swings are a strictly female trait
What kind of mood would you be in if you smelled like rancid hake?
There’s thirty-five symptoms of menopause, and I’ve got thirty-four
Hang on — what’s that ringing sound? Oh shit, I’ve got one more.
Comments are closed.