The Dreaded Spread
I always thought that middle-aged meant 45. Top-end could reach 50 or 51.5, given that my Granny lived to be 103…
I always thought that middle-aged meant 45. Top-end could reach 50 or 51.5, given that my Granny lived to be 103…
When I get to the bedroom, David is doing deep lunges…
In peri-menopause, my maturing ovaries ruled my higher brain function. Those wee organs were in the driver’s seat for a long time. Many, many, many months…
I apologetically shrug as I point to my head. “Sorry, menopause brain.”
Did I watch the same version of The Fantastic Four – First Steps as the 379 reviewers on Rotten Tomatoes?
Ahhhhh… the switch from spring to summer. The shining sun chased by storm clouds, followed by more sun, whipping wind, more clouds… and palpable humidity. I eschew humidity. I seek out shade. I slather on sunblock 50. When the humidex rises and my sun-worshipping friends bask in its oppressive heated blanket of ick, I morph…
After having spent several days doodle-adjacent, David proclaims: “It’s time to get another dog!!”
Going to put my weekly pills into my pill cubbies, I realize that I don’t have enough of my anti-falling-down meds on hand to fill the entire week.
I am particularly proud of myself for not letting rip with curses that could be heard throughout the neighbourhood…
From his chair in the corner, David waggles his eyebrows.