I’m Not Menopausal, I’m A Superhero


Getting old has never really bothered me, although I must admit that of late some of the physical changes have been – well, interesting I suppose. On a good day, I view the menopause as a challenge; on less good ones, it’s a pain in the proverbial that I simply have to get on with because it won’t bloody go away.

However, having spent a lifetime reading comics and graphic novels, it occurred to me that, in fact, I’m looking at things all wrong. I’m clearly turning into a superhero, although at the moment it’s not entirely clear which one. It could get be an unholy amalgam of a few… just as long as Spiderman isn’t one of them. I’m not especially good with arachnids, especially irritating teenage ones.

Here’s the evidence. There you are, sitting quietly on the sofa watching a Midsomer Murders and without warning, it’s “Flame On” and you’ve turned into the Human Torch. By the time the next advert break has started, you could give Bruce Banner lessons on anger management and come bedtime, you feel like a 30 year old in an 80 year old body. Which would, of course, make you Captain America. Although instead of super-soldier serum you only get HRT, but I’m told that if you combine it with half a cider and a jar of pickled onions, the only person crazy enough to upset you is Deadpool.

On that basis, I’m rather looking forward to my menopause. I just wish I could get to pick my superhero in advance, that’s all.