“Can we get a puppy?”
“No, we can’t get a puppy.” My husband is as adamant as I am beseeching.
“Not even a little one?”
“No.”
Strictly between you and me, I fear I may have stumbled inadvertently into a mid-life crisis.
In men, the mid-life crisis translates into unsuitable sports cars and eager-to-please secretaries. In women it’s more likely to mean impulsive sprees in Cath Kidston, an edgy hair cut and the acquisition of a doe-eyed puppy.
Am I having a mid-life crisis? Well, let’s look at the facts. I’ve just left a secure job in favour of an erratic freelance income. I’ve had a drastic hair cut, I’m begging my husband for a baby-substitute pet and last week I spent £82.50 on floral napkins, two hand towels and a teapot. It’s all down hill from here.
It occurred to me that my apparent mid-life crisis could be down to the HRT. Women blame all sorts of things on HRT, from lack of libido to shoplifting, so it wouldn’t be an unreasonable accusation. I asked my husband to tell me if I had become at all irrational.
There was an ironically pregnant pause.
“Er… no,” he said, pulling nervously at his collar. “I don’t think I can do that.”
“Why on earth not?” I snapped, irrationally.
Ah, I see his point.