If you have an self-decency, good manners or nausea, do not read this post.
You may have thought I had reached the bounds of oversharing. That the poop tag could serve as a sort of event horizon for all things foul.
You were wrong. Lemme tell you a little story. Those of you who have taken Endometrin are already well aware that the nasty little suppositories lead you to leak discharge not unlike that of soft Italian cheeses, complete with the same smell and … umm … whey.
But the side effects are the real benefit! And I don’t only mean that by 3 a.m. I had become Satan Incarnate rowing away on the burning lake in the fifth canto, I was shedding so much hot flash heat. I had thought that the closest I would get to “glowing” would be if I stumbled upon the nuclear reactor in Dimona, but I was certainly radiating.
I was awoken on Saturday morning by an extremely sharp pain in my right breast. It felt as though a dull needle were puncturing my nipple.
Mostly cause that’s what was happening.
I had a THO* so bad that it had risen through my industrial-strength sports bra and shirt and created a small bump under the sheets. Our youngest kitten, some five months old, thought that funny Mummy was hiding under the blankets again. So she pounced on said nipple, gave it a couple good bites (why she is a biter, I don’t know, but these Israeli cats just aren’t to be trusted) and attempted to … umm … pull it off of me and play with it.
Now, mind you, I’ve considered removing my nipples several times this week, too. Can’t fault her for the good idea. But I kind of panned on them when I realized that removal would require that something would have to touch them. The very thought of which makes me shiver with pain.
Amazingly, the cat is still alive. I had the composure to gently fling her onto another pillow with a dull roar. It appears Mr. Nipple has sustained minor damage (though that’s anyone’s guess, since my breasts now resemble two squashed Nerf footballs with pancakes stuck to the front of them – and what is the deal with the hair growing on them? My gawd, I’m beginning to look like a Victorian sofa – both in size and upholstery).
I’m a bit bloated too. A bit here having the meaning that the clothes that fit me when I was a good 35 pounds heavier are now a bit tight. And the gas! Oh, the gas is amazing. I’m thinking of hanging out around the local middle schools just to impress the teenage boys. I am apparently getting enough fiber, as that is one aspect of this body that has become surprisingly regular.
Unfortunately, the gas that accompanies it is pretty amusing. I’m like a brewery. I can’t help but here the Budweiser Clydesdale song in the background as I walk to the bathroom at night. And when our big kitty crawls up to sleep on me, it’s like someone’s playing a pipe organ. Thank God, it doesn’t hurt, but it sure as hell is funny.
The hubby, for his part, is also a bit gassy. I like to think of them as sympathy farts.
So anyhoo. How was your weekend? Anybody else take Endometrin? Did it all fall out of you about three hours after you took it? Does that mean it isn’t working (though I’d put money on it that it is given my menopausal vacation last night)?
* From middle school: Titty hard on. I am so vastly inappropriate that I occasionally offend myself.