Menopause, Poetry and Potatoes.

My Beloved asked me to do something really outrageous .


No, no, don't worry, I'm not going to give details of our intimate relations, probably because:

1. It's a purely private matter between my Beloved and myself
2. A gentleman never kisses and tells
3. There's not that much going on in that area any more.

She asked me to accompany her to a musical.

I was all for it.

Knowing that such acceptance would increase my brownie point tally to a healthy balance, and that the alternative was going swimming in the public pool in Upper Hutt.  I really don't like swimming in the late Autumn and Winter, especially in a public pool, but my Beloved insists.  She tells me it is nice to do things together.

I don't see how going to the pool is doing things together.  We can't really have a cosy and intimate chat while gasping for air and trying not to drown.  AND I swim a lot faster than she does, so we're never really together.  Except at the end when she likes to sit in the jacuzzi for 15 minutes.  I've never really seen the attraction of sitting in a large vat of people soup, being coated with secreted oils (more importantly, other people's secreted oils) and skin debris.

However, I said I'd be happy to go to the musical. 

The last time we went to a musical entertainment in Upper Hutt, it was an amateur dramatics show of such unspeakable awfulness that I still feel a bit nauseous (see here), but anything was better than swimming.

I was told the show started at 6pm, so I had to make the extra effort to get finished quickly at Nuova Lazio High School to get home in time.

As we pulled into the car park I could see plenty of people making their way towards the theatre, but strangely, most of them were ladies.

My goodness, they're all ladies

Odd.

Then as we walked into the reception area, ALL I could see were women.  No.  Wait.  I saw about 4 blokes huddled together near the bar, obviously for self-protection.

Then I saw the title of the show.

MENOPAUSE The MUSICAL.

Oh Dear God, what the hell was I letting myself in for.

We got to our seats just before the lights went down, but as far as I could see, I was the only bloke in the first 5 rows.

I began to get a really bad feeling about this.

I was right to be afraid.

Very afraid.

The show consisted of 4 women of a certain age singing about The Change.

They used pop hits from the 70s, 80s and 90s with re-written lyrics, commenting on the problems faced by women, with most of the problems being of an intimate nature.  They were using this musical medium to get the message across that it was OK to discuss the problems the menopause caused.

They covered Hot Flushes, night sweats, irrational emotional states, hot flushes again, the use of tranquilisers, HRT and the lack of care and attention by their MEN.

My Beloved and the hundreds of ladies in the auditorium went into hoots of laughter at all of the jokes, but I didn't see it as being that amusing.  Neither did the other 4 blokes from what I could see.

Then they got started on me.

EVERY time they alluded to a failure of their male partners to understand or support them in their hormonal anguish, they all looked at me.  The entire f*cking audience looked at me.

They were all staring at me

It was MY fault that their blokes disappeared into their sheds, garages and gardens.  It was MY fault that their blokes preferred to watch sports and work on the roof rather than help and discuss the hormonal/emotional problems now enveloping the ladies.

AND worst of all, it was obviously MY fault that their blokes were no longer satisfying their *blush* sexual needs.

This was when they began singing "Good Vibrations".

They sang "Good Vibrations" with pink condoms over their radio microphones, which they thrust in A VERY SUGGESTIVE MANNER, as they also did with their chests and pelvises (pelvi?)

Like these, but much, much worse

Dear Lord, I'd heard of pelvic thrusts, but this was a bit much.

Then the blonde performer (who was playing the character of an ageing soap TV show star with an unsavoury reputation as a bit of a cougar) began to sing directly to me.

She came right up to the edge of the stage, looked straight into my eyes, and began to sing the most filthy lyrics of the evening.  TO ME.

Good taste dictates that I cannot give the lyrics verbatim (just as well, because my own inner Operating System has already blanked most of them out), but let me just say that she sang a rhyming verse, the last words of which were "You Silver Fox".

When the torture was over and the cast began to leave, the blonde was still thrusting suggestively, and made the universal symbol for "Call Me" as she left.

I was severely traumatised. 

My Beloved thought it was all good fun.

Ha   Ha.

As we left, the ushers on duty reminded us to fill in the questionnaires enclosed in our programmes, so we could enter a prize draw.  I didn't have a pen on me (unusually, because as a teacher I normally have at least 5 on my person at any time, two of them with red ink) and the usher mentioned that there was a box of complimentary pens lying beside the back row of seats back in the auditorium.  As I pushed my way back into the auditorium to get the pens, one of the 4 blokes was exiting.

I thought he might give me "we're all blokes in the sh*t together" look, but what he said was "Going to get her number mate?"

I ask you.

Male solidarity?
All Blokes in it together?
Mutual defense against the horde of womanhood?

Nope.

I must go soon.   The show has put my beloved in an odd state of mind.  I'm sure she thinks that the entire female audience were lusting after me, and I think she's out to prove some point or other.

Oh-oh, she wants something

Pray for me.

---

Poetry

Homer gave me a good slagging off (as his is intrinsic right as a thinking cognitive human being, even if he's wrong) about my obvious disdain for looby's liking for Slovene Poetry (I'm never quite sure if it's Slovene poetry he's after or Slovene women)

Hello lovely Slovak girl. Do you know any good poetry?

The problem I have is in the translation. What does it really say?
Here are some examples.

In Slovak.

Zem je plná matkinom krvi,
Kvety v Dunaja bahna
Moja krajina je rozdelená ako sekerou v lese,
Pracujem tak tvrdo, ako len môžem pre spoločné dobro.

Literal translation. (Bless you Google)

The earth is full of mother's blood
Flowers in the Danube mud
My country is divided like an ax in the forest
I work as hard as I can for the common good.

Poetic Translation.

The earth is full of my mother’s blood,

The flowers grow in the Danube’s mud

My country is split like an axe in the wood,

I slave all day for the common good.

Official Slovak Government translation(Carnations are the Slovak National Flower)

Our ground is so fertile my Dear,

Carnations will grow quickly I fear,

The divide can be great,

But we all pray for a crate

Of our great Slovak beer.

---

Potatoes

I lied about the potatoes.