Peri-Shit-Opause: The Hairbrained Years
Today I lit my hand on fire….Yes, you read that right.
Would this have happened were I not in perimenopause? Hard to say. Am I surprised this happened when I’m in perimenopause? Not particularly. Sadly, this kind of thing has become my new normal. Later in the day, I ran over my own foot with the vacuum cleaner. And tonight, when I was trying to detangle my hair, I managed to stab myself in the eye with my comb.
Shit! Can I catch a fucking break?
The answer is no, I cannot, and neither can you—not when you’re in perimenopause, or, as I like to call it “peri-shit-opause.” Because during this period of your life, shit is flying at you at the speed of light.
In case you’re wondering, here’s how I burned myself. I had lit a three-wick jar candle sitting on my desk. Somehow a single Kleenex blew into one of the flames. You know how in accidents, people always say, “It all happened in an instant”? Well, it’s true because I was typing away and suddenly flames were shooting out of this Vetiver Glow candle as the entire Kleenex was ablaze.
The smart thing would have been for me to place the candle lid on top of the jar, but I didn’t do the smart thing. Instead, I grabbed the burning Kleenex with my thumb and index finger and sprinted like a freakshow out of the den and around the corner to the powder bathroom, screaming, “oh, shit, oh, shit, oh, shit,” then tossed the charred tissue into the sink and turned on the water full blast.
I didn’t feel like getting a lecture from my husband on how stupid I was to have started a fire on my desk, so I tore off some toilet paper and scooped up what was left of the Kleenex from the sink to flush down the toilet. Although I had disposed of the evidence, both the den and bathroom still reeked of fire so I opened the windows in both rooms even though it was 20 degrees outside.
I snuck upstairs and dug out a bottle of after-sun aloe vera gel and slathered it onto my hand. It helped not one bit because this wasn’t a fucking sunburn.
I glanced down at my red, swollen hand and decided I might as well confess to my hubby what had happened.
“I just lit my hand on fire,” I said.
He didn’t seem concerned or surprised.
“Am I going to have to take candles away from you?” he asked me.
I shot him a dirty look. This was precisely why I had planned to keep my lips zipped.
“I’m just kidding,” he said. Although I imagine he was only half kidding.
Has perimenopause hijacked your body, scrambled your brain, wrecked your sleep, and torpedoed your sex drive? Welcome to the shittiest club ever.
Why Did I Walk into This Room? is your hilarious survival guide for when perimenopause is kicking your ass. It’s packed with sharp, relatable essays that remind you you’re not losing it—you’re just hormonally haunted.
If you want to invite humor, hope, and a little sanity back into your life, this book delivers. Order your copy today: Why Did I Walk into This Room? – Christy Heitger-Ewing
