Is 50 the new 30? If it isn't, I think it should be. Lets face it at 50, you no longer plan your social life around babysitters, you can do within reason, strike out 'within reason`, pretty much whatever you want. I have substituted the word pretty for feck, which I want to use profusely later in this rant.
If we have screwed our loafs (or should that be loaves Val?) we should have enough spare cash to lunch out every day, shop in Evans, and take flower arranging classes in the evening. We should be retired, or semi retired, or working voluntarily out of the goodness of our hearts. (High five Cherub, we may not always get on, but I like the cut of your jib). At our age, most of us can't be bothered with all that sort of thing, and would rather have a 'tame', 'yes dear' type hushand like Richard Bucket - you can tell you are getting old when you see Hyacinth's husband as the ideal man. But I digress, as much fun as the days of going to bed, saying 'fuck or fight' were - you have faced the harsh reality of having to buy new furniture. It takes all the fun out of it when you can't throw things without having to watch out for the new plasma tv and the leather corner unit.
But I digress, what is the ideal life for a 50 plus women? Should we stay at home and dote over the kids and grandkids, or should we take off on wild exotic holidays and come home newly engaged to a Massai Warrior? Some of us regain our wits when the hormones butt out, but others totally throw caution to the wind. I can't say I blame the caution to the wind lot, that old biblical 'three score years and ten', grows ever nearer and if you get the urge to put a cat in a bin, you go girl, (as long as no animals are harmed in the making of the video).
I think GP's should hand out 'get out of jail free' cards to all menopausal women. Nothing complicated, maybe something along the lines of 'temporarily deranged' that can be flashed at officers of the law if needs be. Even we, cannot predict our erratic mood swings, so legally, we could get away with murder. Though I don't suggest anyone try this at home. If you get the urge to sneak up behind him with an ice pick the next time he asks for a cup of tea, the relationship is pretty much over. Get out quick, because you might be way too decrepid to do any fun stuff by the time they release you.
I definitely think there is a tie in between the hormones going, and the sense returning ? Whilst young and gorgeous, our need for a 'mate' ignores the warning signals from our brain. We want the prince charming, our childhood promised us, the rose covered cottage and the happy ever after. For some reason, we are convinced that the posturing semi homo sapien displaying his dance moves underneath a glitter ball would make an ideal future life partner. Of course the more sensible among our species honed in on the more prestigious of the hunter and gatherers, the ones with the massive piles of nuts, and they are the ones who now live in big houses and belong to the WI.
I actually have a theory that women, or their bodies without their consent, have a primaevil, genetic need to procreate, and for some reason, we think that the prancing orangotan making an ejit of himself on the dancefloor would be the ideal mate and father of our future children. Our eyes and brain see babbling baboon, but our ovaries see alpha male, and while we are still fertile, the ovaries win every time.
Well, justing musing, and grieving the loss of me mojo. I knew it had gone when I started to think of Brad Pitt as a nice boy. However, all is well, phew, the sight of George Clooney in handcuffs was just too much.......