Thirsty Thursday: The job is okay, I have a doctor’s note

"The worst thing I ever did at work was smash a telephone with a glittery wand, but I did that once I’d hung up the phone and was only in the office where everyone I worked with expected nothing less"

Sarah McCarthy, the author of the Thirsty Thursday column.

• Entertaining wordsmith Sarah McCarthy writes a weekly column for The Southland Tribune called Thirsty Thursday.

THIRSTY THURSDAY 9

It’s early and there is the sound of throbbing drums and chanting filling the house because there’s football about. Mr mr is getting up to watch games every morning and leaving me to sleep, but then I get up and he is watching the games and there is no coffee, no lunches made, no dog fed. He no longer fears me. I’ve lost my touch.

Sitting here, half cold coffee in front of me and the drums in my ears and the week in the news: it feels like a call to arms. It’s obvious the universe is pointing me in a specific direction. Although when this happens I question the universe and I say, “Hey universe!” and the universe says, “Wot?” because the universe is a cockney geezer. And I say, “Why can’t you point me in the direction of finding fifty bucks in my knicker drawer?” and the universe says, “Leave it ouuuuut Bianca.”

Anyway, so I went to The Doctor this week to whinge about the state of myself and the hotsies and the murderies and the dumb. Oh my god I am so dumb. And I said, “What about like is it like the like perimenopause or whatever?” and he said, “I think we can biff the peri bit, tbh.” So it’s offish. I’m actually in The Menopause.

“Although,” he says, “you’re very young.”

And just like that I’m young again! From geriatric mother to young in 8 years. I’m reading a new book by some Irish man (booker short-listed - smarm smarm) and in the front he is described as something like an ‘exciting young Irish author’ and he is a year older than me. I couldn’t help but wonder, is age really just a number?

So, it’s kismet, fate, the cockney universe that I should be thinking about what kind of behaviour is expected from a woman in a menopause, because this exact thing has literally been in the hallowed cyberpages of this cyberpaper this cybernewscycle.

And here I will pause: Old Logano and Old Tribbo has an audience of mainly the men (including my dad who, when I initially told him about Thirsty Thursday, said “Just remember that your dad is reading,” and I was like dad you were there for the first column when a lot of it was based around me being drunk and stalking the town catching boys) and I know it is mainly the men as there is a lot of sports and council content and we all know that sport is for boys and council is for the old boys club. But I am so sure, deep in my marrow and my soul, that men like to learn things and are not afraid of new experiences and information even if it does not pertain directly to them. Surely, if I am aware of not only what a vas deferens is but also what it does, then they can be okay with some ‘ooh lummy I’m a-sweating’ chat. I mean GOD FORBID I upset the men.

And this brings me to my point, and I do have one, even though I’ve just had to remove a layer of clothing and get a cold drink.

You could say that it has been implied that women’s behaviour during menopause is unpredictable and wildly inappropriate and that if women were to lash out with, say, a bicycle chain during a meeting or shout CASHH ME OUSSIDE, HOW BOUT DAH at a passing chief executive (paraphrasing here) then it would just be put down to poor old Beryl and her Wayward Ovaries.

But I grew an entire person inside me, a couple of times actually, once when I was working both full time and with the public, and let me tell you being el pregnantes is a whole thing with area disruptions and baby brain so vicious you can forget how to read and hormones so mopey you cry about cheeseburgers. And the worst thing I ever did at work was smash a telephone with a glittery wand, but I did that once I’d hung up the phone and it was only in the office where everyone I worked with expected nothing less than that exact behaviour from me and that was before I even got knocked up.

And I was reminded often that being el pregnantes was a condition, not an illness, and was expected to just get on with it quickly and quietly with a minimum of fuss. And now I am menopausal, which surely means, if telly is anything to go by, that I am just going to fade away into the background.

But now you could say that I have learned that intensely terrible behaviour in public while doing my job is okay as long as I have a doctor’s note? What are we doing? Are we all just doing whatever the fuck we like because we think we are funny and have a quirky sense of humour now? Because mateys I’ve been waiting for this for my whole, entire life. Buckle up.