Meltdown Misery
Saturday, October 31, 2015 at 11:12AM
Dishy

Menopausal Madness is in full swing here.

All I can say is that I hope all those stories I’ve heard about women who get off Capital Murder charges on the grounds of diminished responsibility (due to raging hormones) are true. Otherwise my next blog may well be written from the confines of a prison cell. Poor Mufasa – he is a shadow of his former self as he tries to navigate through the dark and stormy waters of a wife who is a placid, gentle sweetheart one minute and a RAVING LUNATIC the next.

Case in point, I was preparing a Dishy Special pasta bake for him last weekend while he was out running errands. I thought I was in a fabulous mood as I diced a few veggies; some leftover chicken whipped up a light cream sauce and then generously sprinkled shredded Parmesan over the top before popping it in the oven to bake. I was feeling pretty smug about my creation as I sipped a nice glass of Pinot and waited for his return.

Enter Mufasa stage left but unfortunately his first words to me were “What’s that stinky cheese smell?”   This innocent question resulted in an instant explosion of tears and rage; “ YOU CALLOUS INSENSITIVE B***ARD WHAT ON EARTH IS WRONG WITH YOU? HERE I AM COOKING YOUR DINNER WHICH IS AN ACT OF LOVE (sob) AND YOU INSULT ME WITH STINKY CHEESE ACCUSATIONS (sob sob) THAT’S IT – DON’T EVER EXPECT HOMECOOKED CUISINE (sob sob sob) FROM ME AGAIN YOU CAN EAT GARBAGE FOR ALL I CARE.”

At this point Mufasa realizes that a huge error has been made and although it is clearly true that Parmesan is somewhat of a smelly cheese it was extremely unwise to have mentioned it, but how to recover from this point? All his protestations of sorrow, guilt, love and appreciation were just met with further hormonally induced rantings so he left me crying on the sofa and retreated to a safe corner of the house to re-group, gather his wits and pray that I would calm down enough to accept his groveling apologies. Of course he was in fact ravenously hungry and sincerely hoping that this would all blow over fairly quickly so that we could sit together and eat the Stinky Cheese Pasta dish. Thankfully these CRAZY mood swings do seem to pass in short order so an hour later we were back to Lovebird status and enjoying our dinner on the patio. 

I can never predict how and when these rages will manifest. There are other times when the observations my soul mate utters have me rolling on the floor laughing. Case in point # 2 was earlier this week when we were riveted to one of our BBC TV shows and right in the middle of a gripping murder scene Mufasa grabbed the remote, paused the frame and turned to me looking extremely grave and said “SIXTY-NINE DEGREES” I looked at him perplexed until he continued “ SIXTY-NINE DEGREES!!! I WOKE UP LAST NIGHT AND MY ENTIRE ARM WAS FROZEN SOLID!!! THAT’S NOT AIR CONDITIONING IT’S REFRIGERATION!”

I think I laughed for ten full minutes. This whole AC thing is a constant battle with us as I’m permanently hot and he is shivering with cold. I set the AC low and wonder why I’m still burning only to discover he has re-set it at 77.

Florida is not a good place for menopausal women or their long-suffering husbands. At least Rockstar and Genius are not being subjected to this latest reality show of their parent’s lives. By the time they get home for Thanksgiving the weather will have cooled sufficiently to allow the resumption of normal behaviors. Unless of course my husband is foolish enough to make any less than favorable observations regarding our Holiday fare – I cannot be held responsible for what might ensue if there is even the slightest inference that my turkey and trimmings are not perfect examples of gastronomic excellence or indeed any mention of the fact that I have failed to lose the fifteen pounds of peri-menopausal weight in time for the Holiday Season as intended. Those are topics that are guaranteed to ignite a severe case of meltdown misery.

 

Article originally appeared on Dish It Up (http://dishitupjude.com/).
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