Today was my sister’s 50th birthday and her present was a badge ─ a ‘f*ck f*ck f*ckety f*ck’ badge. I bought other things too but this was by far my favourite.
Hers too.
It was a simple pin-on badge with a black background and the words written clearly in white ─ nothing fancy but it caught my attention some months back in the shop next door to the dentist.
I bought two ─ one for myself and one for my sister.
My badge was a menopausal ‘f*ck f*ck f*ckety f*ck’ badge – four simple words that summed up the menopause.
So perfect. So expressive. So true.
And if someone were to ask how I was feeling, I could simply show them my badge. I loved that, as it meant that I didn’t have to speak – I am not always a speaker even though I look like I am.
My sister’s badge was a non-menopausal ‘f*ckety f*ck’ badge, as she is non-menopausal.
It was a birthday badge instead.
My sister is fabulous. We are close and I am eternally grateful for that. We are best-friend sisters and know each other back to front – so much so that when I gave her the badge, she guessed what it was despite it being wrapped as a square. Somehow, she just knew.
I showed the badge to my menopausal friends and they liked it, too. After all, how could they not? It was funny, rude and exactly how we felt most of the f*ckety f*ck time.
Within a flash, I had six orders – five menopausal and one birthday.
The next time I went to the dentist, I popped into the shop next door. As I don’t like to rush these days, I left early to allow for some badge shopping time.
But where the f*ckety f*ck were they?
They were gone.
Each and every one of them.
I was very disappointed, as were my six friends.
And it occurred to me that there must have been a lot of badge-buying people out there.
And I bet they were all menopausal.
J x
(shared from my old diaries – 16th November 2019)
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