One of
the symptoms that one has had to fight from the very early,
not-yet-named-so-I-can't-be-in-it, stages of menosoup is the expanding
girth. You've heard about it, read about
it, seen it all around.
Of
course, this is the epidemic age of very early onset menosoup if this symptom
alone were the aid to diagnosis. We are
a global family of expanded girthness.
However, I am not talking about the obesity crisis that almost the
entire population of the planet is faced with.
This is the "but I'm a vegetarian, two meals a day and never in the
dark" type of mystery growth that comes upon one almost overnight. Almost exactly after the 40th birthday to be
precise. Looking at a plate of beancurd and noodles puts on half a kilo
straight away. Heaven alone knows what
actually eating it does.
Well I
know but I'm not letting on.
Then
something peculiar occurs. One who has
never had a sweet tooth discovers it was lying quietly at the back there,
somewhere under the 110th row back, 5th row in from the right, taste bud. Further, as the weight is going on and won't
come off no matter how much Bollywood Bhangra one cracks on with, then why
worry? If you want that hot choco go for
it. Iced choco? Why not.
Cuppa and … a biccy? I never ate
biscuits.
Different
story now.
Peri-menopause
is the medical period of time from the very first symptom of menosoup to the
very last symptom. One can only know it
in retrospect. Retrospectively I can
report that I began to look like a marsupial at around age 41. Koalas are
marsupials.
Yes I
became a round ball of hugginess, ie menorchupial, within eleven months of
cresting that hill. I have assessed
pictures of my maternal grandmother as I am given to understand one can garner clues as to one's future through such research.
It's all
her fault.
Know the feeling.
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