An Ascot Observer public safety report.
Is menopause a valid reason for behaving like a completely unhinged bitch? Yes it is, according to the Gen X female cohort in 4007, currently navigating their midlife hormonal changes. And in other news, anyone that says otherwise can fuck off and die.
In this special report, The Ascot Observer can reveal that previously straight up, normal high maintenance bitches are now reporting their inner monologue has more personalities than Sybil. Just don’t actually point that out to her.
And this from the front line. “It’s the mood wheel of fortune,” states one wary husband, who wishes to remain anonymous because his life depends on it. “I don’t know which persona I’m going to wake up next to.” Our exclusive sources can reveal she’s not that sure who she’ll be either.
A slogan for the times….
In the interests of public safety, The Observer has decided to unpack a few of the more common personalities for hapless bystanders and general idiots. Any or all of these female perps are currently active and roaming the suburb, so be alert and probably alarmed. And, for all the mid-life women out there still meeting their new inner girl gang, here’s a short introduction.
Irritable Ingrid – Listening to your husband’s nightly sound sleeping is inciting deep rage within you. When he is not sleep-gloating, he’s wide awake and blinking too fucking loudly.
‘For Fuck Sake’ Fran – This emoji is on high rotation in your head 😑😑😑. You’ve been asked by some woke barista to declare your pronoun, your lawnmower man has ghosted you, you go to the gym 800 times a year and yet your body is resembling a melted ice cream. The Greens. Seriously, you have no time for any of this bullshit.
Indecisive Irene – The Finish dish tabs are 37c a unit – but they don’t have the powerball. The powerball plus booster is 48c a unit but they only sold in bags of 15 and you’re gonna go through that in like a week. If you get the bag of 80 tabs, they’re a bargain at 32 cents a unit – but the bag is going to take up too much room in your trolley. Maybe you should just get Fairy and downgrade your expectations of what clean dishes should look like. They’re only 17 cents a unit. Does anyone in the house even notice if the plates are clean? *inner voice cuts in* …..GET A FUCKING GRIP WOMAN. YOU USED TO MANAGE MULTI MILLION DOLLAR COMPANY BUDGETS… *sigh* Eeenie Meenie Minee Moe *grabs most expensive dish tabs*. Now on to aisle 7 to repeat this with tinned tomatoes.
Forgetful Fiona – Seeking a million lumen flashlight to cut through the fog in your mind. It’s fucking dark in there. You can’t find a word to save your life. You don’t even remember why you’re in there in the first place. There’s your half finished cup of coffee from Wednesday last week.
Weepy Winifred – The phrase ‘how are you?’ is apparently your new trigger. You’re like a dam made out of crepe paper. Other triggers include; someone holding your eye contact for more than two seconds, watching a returned-soldier-meets-long-lost-dog video, being teased by your teenager because you can’t convert your pdf into word without the formatting fucking up. Come armed with Kleenex, or don’t come at all.
Insomniac Isabel – It’s 2.15am and that can only mean one thing…a deep dive on every dumb-arse thing you’ve ever done in your life for the 300th night in a row with the same net result of no progress on anything at all. After giving yourself a proper grilling, you fall into a deep sleep at 4.59 am. Alarm goes off 60 seconds later for another 18 hour day.
Anxious Annie – Getting busy putting the ‘zing’ in catastrophising.
Sweaty Betty – Your sudden urge to get nude is not for the same reason you used to want to get nude. Like,…not.at.all.
Drill-down Diana– Yes, there is a clear difference between the 17 different white paint chips you have just shown your husband. If you screw this choice up, you might as well set your house on fire now. No-one will ever want to buy it. Also, the lemons he bought are ugly and they are ruining the look of your fruit bowl.
The Ascot Observer will continue to monitor the situation. Advice for loved ones, colleagues and friends of mid-life women in the suburb is as clear as mud. Tune in or maybe tune out, cuddle her or stay the hell away, shut up or say something. And please watch the volume of your chewing.
Finally, the meno-women of 4007 have this parting message for well-meaning baristas. “We couldn’t give a fuck what pronoun you call us, how about you just focus on making sure my oat flat white is hot, FFS.”
More to come.