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This is from way back when, in the days when I was captive behind a counter.
Little Miss Menopause gained the unfortunate monicker (hereafter referred to as LMM) for the singular fact that she had her menopause. Fine, it happens to almost every woman, but not everyone makes a song and dance about it. For her, though, it wasn't just a song and dance - it was a West End production involving full symphonic orchestra and dancing girls.
"Oh, isn't it hot," she whined one day as I was serving her.
I agreed, for I am a cold weather bunny at the best of times.
"Of cours,e it could just be a hot flush. I'm going through the menopause."
I paused while cutting the meat for her. "Oh," was all I could say.
"I get this so often," she trilled, happy to have an unwilling ear to defile.
She seemed pleased with herself. Perhaps she deserved a gold star and a seat at the front of the class?
Another time she came in and started to bring the subject up again.
"Oh, my moods are so unpredictable. My poor husband - he's been putting up with this for years!"
Poor me, thought I. Ten seconds was more than enough. I'm happily single. It's not something I have to deal with. I have to see blood every working day. I don't want to know or think about it...
The last time she managed to embarrass herself without realising it, I was browsing for a new toothbrush in the chemist. The last one had proven unable to deal with being too tasty for words.
"Look at these!" I heard from over the display. I glanced over at the familiar voice and saw LMM holding unwlling court to three women and one man as she waved a packet of sanitary towels in the air. She positively trilled with delight, announcing, "I won't have to put up with buying these for much longer."
I beat a hasty retreat at that point. There is only so much a man can take.
I was minded of this when a female colleague in the sales team was happily announcing that she'd managed to improve sales by persuading someone to take some mooncup promotional packs. Try www.mooncup.co.uk though the site is really only safe for ladies or men with strong constitutions. The colleague in question was undoubtedly trying to make men blanche.
"There's an American version called the 'keeper' that's been out for some time," I told her.
It was as her stunned expression stared at me that I realised I was now LMM - unashamed and gleeful in my ability to embarrass others with the facts of life. She has led me astray.
Of course, there's always the thought that occurs to me of the menses-phobic coordinator of our department who is bound to be asked about this product in the near future. I expect to be able to hear his screams in the fridge.
Rapscallion
Little Miss Menopause gained the unfortunate monicker (hereafter referred to as LMM) for the singular fact that she had her menopause. Fine, it happens to almost every woman, but not everyone makes a song and dance about it. For her, though, it wasn't just a song and dance - it was a West End production involving full symphonic orchestra and dancing girls.
"Oh, isn't it hot," she whined one day as I was serving her.
I agreed, for I am a cold weather bunny at the best of times.
"Of cours,e it could just be a hot flush. I'm going through the menopause."
I paused while cutting the meat for her. "Oh," was all I could say.
"I get this so often," she trilled, happy to have an unwilling ear to defile.
She seemed pleased with herself. Perhaps she deserved a gold star and a seat at the front of the class?
Another time she came in and started to bring the subject up again.
"Oh, my moods are so unpredictable. My poor husband - he's been putting up with this for years!"
Poor me, thought I. Ten seconds was more than enough. I'm happily single. It's not something I have to deal with. I have to see blood every working day. I don't want to know or think about it...
The last time she managed to embarrass herself without realising it, I was browsing for a new toothbrush in the chemist. The last one had proven unable to deal with being too tasty for words.
"Look at these!" I heard from over the display. I glanced over at the familiar voice and saw LMM holding unwlling court to three women and one man as she waved a packet of sanitary towels in the air. She positively trilled with delight, announcing, "I won't have to put up with buying these for much longer."
I beat a hasty retreat at that point. There is only so much a man can take.
I was minded of this when a female colleague in the sales team was happily announcing that she'd managed to improve sales by persuading someone to take some mooncup promotional packs. Try www.mooncup.co.uk though the site is really only safe for ladies or men with strong constitutions. The colleague in question was undoubtedly trying to make men blanche.
"There's an American version called the 'keeper' that's been out for some time," I told her.
It was as her stunned expression stared at me that I realised I was now LMM - unashamed and gleeful in my ability to embarrass others with the facts of life. She has led me astray.
Of course, there's always the thought that occurs to me of the menses-phobic coordinator of our department who is bound to be asked about this product in the near future. I expect to be able to hear his screams in the fridge.
Rapscallion
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