Last night, in despair, I started a letter to Menopause. I told her exactly what I thought of her, and why. It felt great to let off some steam, but the letter was morbid and whiney. Scratch that. Time for plan B.
I’m forming a girl gang. I’m pretty sure I know a few blogging bombshells who’ll join the posse. Our cause: murder Menopause.
I’m ready to rumble instead of mumble.
You’ve been our foe, sapping our mojo, hurting us high and low and now you’re gonna get a body blow. The day of reckoning is here, Miss Thang. Better look out for our gang.
We got the eye of the tiger, my mob squad and me. Time is short, you better flee. This is how it’ll be. You, face down on the mat, splat. We ain’t taking it no more, daughter of a cur. Your life gonna pass your eyes in a blur.
Menopause, look over your shoulder. Be best for you to crawl under a boulder. One night, we’re going to catch you, you crone. Mayhem-ugly-tragic for you alone. We’re going to have the last laugh, the best laugh, the laugh that makes you frown. You hear that bell? Yeah, well, we’re taking your crown.
We’re packing heat, and Menopause, you’re going down.
There now, I feel better already. Anyone for a black cohosh tea?
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