Red Shoe Week: Is It PMS Or Menopause?

I told my first husband that every time he wore red shoes it was a warning that he had PMS (premenstrual syndrome). He knew he had to stay away, far away, whenever he saw me wearing them. I don’t have that husband anymore, but I still have a few days each month where nothing goes right, no one pleases me, and I cry for no good reason. My first husband traveled a lot on business and he didn’t always have the privilege of witnessing my mood swings during red shoe week. It wasn’t until he changed jobs within his company and he started spending more time at home that our marriage fell apart. I blame the red shoes and his lack of ability to deal with an unreasonable woman. It’s not his fault. All elementary schools should require boys to take a class in proper PMS etiquette before they become men and start trying to “fix” a temporarily fragmented woman. They should at least be warned that it’s a futile effort so they don’t further annoy women by giving them unsolicited advice. Instead, the kids should be given instructions on how to invest in good camping gear or 100 Ways to Sleep on the Couch. My second husband understands this, but I think his first wife trained him. I can’t take credit. He just “knows” when it’s time to go golf or make an appointment with the psychiatrist, for himself, not for me. I’m fine. I’m just a woman on the merry-go-round of PMS and menopause.

Now that I’m in my late forties, not only do I have PMS, I also have symptoms of early menopause complete with PTMs (personal tropical moments). That’s French for “hot flashes” in case anyone of the male gender is reading this and doesn’t understand why your friend was fanning herself with the leather-bound menu at that 5-star restaurant you took her to. You know the only place I’m talking about. You thought taking her there would earn you points, but she drank too much red wine (that was your first clue, the color red) and was asleep when you took her home.

For middle-aged, wiser, more experienced women, having this dual diagnosis is like having PMS all the time with an extra week of “red shoe time” every month. It’s hard to tell if my tantrums are caused by PMS or issues with pent up anger from being so codependently nice to everyone when I was younger. Probably both; I’m thinking of dyeing my feet red. Red toe nail polish, while chipped and attention-grabbing, just doesn’t get the message across.

And speaking of toes, let’s talk about wedding bands. Yeah, it’s red shoe week and I’m kind of random in my thought process. I have trouble remembering to wear my wedding ring. I always take it off and forget where I put it. I think forgetfulness is also part of menopause; It certainly wasn’t like that in my thirties. Now that I’ve gained a few pounds (okay, 30 pounds) since getting married the second time, the band is too tight and restrictive, like marriage in general. There are times when I don’t want to put the energy and effort into a daily relationship with a guy I can’t get mad at. My second husband laughs at me when I have one of my episodes. Maybe I conveniently forgot to wear the ring. After all, it indicates that I’m not available, and honestly, there are times when I don’t want to rule out my other options. If I’m going to wear a ring that says “Keep Out” I can also wear a toe ring. I don’t mind people avoiding my toes.

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