Mum went to see Menopause The Musical the other night.
I don’t know if she enjoyed it or not, I haven’t asked and she hasn’t shared the information. I imagine Carole has asked as they have some sort of secret, special relationship where they text each other almost every day and I occasionally have to translate my mum’s texts for Carole.
Just to clarify, my mum was abysmal at texting before her stroke. So now when you add in the fact she can’t see half of what she’s doing it’s a whole knew level of awful. Plus the fact she has her own text speak which no-one else on the planet uses and is only decipherable to a select few.
Anyway, she went to see Menopause the Musical.
So on Tuesday she was texting both myself and Carole about various things. She sent me a shopping list for stuff she wanted me to get her on an online order. Shopping lists are always a joy to receive because they are filled with the most wonderful abbreviations for things. Cu is cucumber, for example. And not, as anyone with a vague knowledge of chemistry would instantly assume, copper. Cbs are chocolate biscuits, whereas choclit is chocolate. Trolls are, of course, toilet rolls. There are many, many others. Sometimes new ones are added because mum is trying something new and I have to decipher what she means, or phone her.
But that’s not what this is about. She went to see Menopause the Musical on Tuesday.
On Tuesday, Carole and myself both received texts which caught us off guard. They both referred to the menopause. No musical was mentioned. I can’t remember what Carole’s said, but mine – on face value – said that after the menopause tonight (Tuesday) she would be available for shopping delivery.
My mum is 70.
That was the first thought that entered my mind. I didn’t even think about her going to see someone singing about HRT and hot flushes. I immediately started thinking that the old girl had finally lost the plot and was thinking that she had a conveniently efficient menopause pencilled in for the evening.
Luckily I worked it out before snatching up the phone and calling her, frantically trying to ascertain her mental state vis a vis her menopausal position before settling down to spend a leisurely evening research places that could help look after her.
As I say, she hasn’t mentioned if she liked it. And if she has told Carole then Carole hasn’t told me. Which either means she’s not asked, or she’s not got around to working out what the text message said.