Dedicated followers are well aware that my husband Drew is a kind, giving man, He's a DIYer, and not just for my house but many people's homes. He knows a lot of trivial things, especially with regards to Sci-Fi. And he has no qualms about slipping a Doctor Who joke or a Tommy Wiseau reference into the middle of a conversation, usually leaving the recipient completely and utterly lost.
He's a good man. But he's a dork.
I live with this fact every day and I've grown to accept him. Most of the time. Occasionally, his dorky mannerisms will drive me insane. And once in a great while, he ends up being the subject of a blog post.
Every few weeks, Treleaven Winery will host an afternoon of music. When they do, there's usually a couple food trucks there serving up yummy local delicacies.
(((Seriously, the local food truck scene in CNY is epic. How come food from a truck tastes so much better than food from a building?! It's a mystery I never want solved.)))
On one particular afternoon last month, we met up with Matt and Stacey to enjoy a full day of music, food, booze, and fun.
I don't know these people. It's the only picture I have of the winery yard.
I'm sure they're very nice though. Whoever they are.
For those of you haven't had the pleasure of being in my presence for more than five minutes, I am going through what the experts call "hell on Earth for old ladies." The maxi pad industry refers to it as the "market killer." Society calls it menopause.
(((I might have that all backwards. I wouldn't suggest you correct me on this though.)))
The point is I'm experiencing the uniquely female "joys" of getting old. Nothing about how a woman's body works makes any sense. At no stage in this game of life have I said, "I'm so glad I have a vagina!" I don't exactly suffer from penis-envy either, so get that thought out of your heads.
(((Although it would be nice to pee standing up. I mean, you can in the shower but I don't think my employer really wants me using the company shower five times a day because I don't feel like using a toilet. And standing on the toilet is not recommended. Not at any age.)))
When I was in my early teens, I once asked my mother why women had to go through menstruation at all. It seemed very inefficient of Mother Nature. She replied, "Because Eve at the apple from the tree and now God's making all women pay for eternity." My mother swears she never said this, but I can still see the faint glow of red behind her eyes when she said it.
(((Or I dreamt it. That's a possibility. And if that's what it was, it was a very realistic dream because I swear it was really her.)))
Personally, I think I should be exempt from having to go through menopause. I didn't even use my baby-making bits for procreation. Just recreation. I climbed out of the shallow end of the gene pool a long time ago and I've been on dry land ever since. I did the Universe a favor by not watering down my DNA and splicing it with another weirdo human. So, I want a waiver for this old age shite! In fact, I should be thanked! Instead of hot flashes, achy joints and a stray white hair on my left boob that's as coarse as a fiber-optic cable --- Admit it! All you old ladies have one! --- I think I should gain Superpowers. The ability to fly would be cool. Or invisibility. I wouldn't want mind-reading as people are generally effed up in the head. But the ability to mentally crush people who don't pick up their paper towels when they miss the trash can in the office bathroom would be neat-o.
But that hasn't happened. Instead, it's hot flashes. Hours and hours of internally combusting. Over and over again. And there isn't a damn thing you can do about it. Nothing helps. And I was whining about this for the nine-millionth time at the winery that day.
Matt very innocently and honestly asked me, "What causes that?"
I began to answer and this came out of Drew's mouth...
It's hormones. You see what happens--
That's as far as he got because my hand clamped over his mouth.
Me: You are not seriously about to mansplain menopause?!
Drew: I was just going to explain scientifically--
Me: Oh no you weren't!
Drew: I like science!
Matt: Dude, I hate to say it, but that is literally the definition of mansplaining. A man explaining to another man about a woman's problem instead of letting her do it.
Drew: Alright, I'm sorry. (He's pouting now.)
Me: Thank you Matt. Menopause is hell. That's all you need to know. It's hell.
Stacey: Yes it is! (She's not there yet, but she's heard me complain enough that she might as well be going through it too.)
I swear he googled "mansplaining" after that conversation.
Drew was on the shit-list for about another hour. Or until my third beer. Whichever came first.
Meanwhile, there was one happy couple that night...
Aren't Stacey and Matt the cutest?! Ahhhhh.
The night ended happily enough. Thanks to beer.
The next day, Stacey and I traveled to the outlet mall to look for a rib-crushing garment for Stacey to wear under her wedding dress. While there, I took the opportunity to goof off in the Vanity Fair fitting room. I don't think this was the lingerie selfie Drew had been hoping for his entire life.
Text To Drew: Am I doing this right???
He called me.
Drew: Um, what are you doing?
Me: I forgot how to bra! I need a man to explain bras to me!
Drew: Ha ha. Looks like you're having fun.
Me: I am.
Drew: Um, are you going to get that? You should get that.
Me: No! Good day sir!
The upside to being married to a dork? He finds my sense of humor sexy.
Love you Drewbie!
~Steph
