Those fresh-smelling closets and an ovaric detour

I feel I have been possessed by an alien little woman, someone ultra-sensitive, helpless and frail and God bless my ovaries. This is one of those rare times when I NEED to blog in the hope of re-aligning the planets or what have you. But more of that later. Let’s do How To Keep Your Wardrobes Smelling Fresh ALWAYS first out of respect for the male audience, bcs later on there will be a small tour of the female endocrinal and reproductive system and they will NOT appreciate it at all. There will even be footprints, for the sturdier of you.

My wardrobes had been puzzling me. I love fresh-smelling clothes and am really happy w my new softener. But I realised that after a while the clean, not yet worn clothes no longer smelled so fresh, and that when I opened the door there was a hint of a smell I couldn’t quite define. It wasn’t a bad smell but it was a bit un-freshish. HATE un-freshish. One day I saw the light but didn’t write abt it then bcs a) I couldn’t and b) I didn’t think anyone really cared - but some do so here it is.

Sometimes we wear clothes just once, right? And after taking them off we sniff them to find out whether they need to be washed. When they don’t, they usually go back in the closet. And THAT is the problem. Bcs, even if they don’t smell bad yet, they have been used, and they will have picked up odours that are unnoticeable at that moment but that will gather once in the closet and create an anti-freshness barrier, as it were. Also, Porties don’t have closets by the front door for big coats and outdoorsy clothes, so those too go back into the closets where the fresh clothes are.

BRAINSTORM! How abt… I have two wardrobes and this is what I did. The one in the hallway only has clothes that were not worn AT ALL TIMES. The one in the bedroom, bcs it’s bigger, holds all bulky winter coats and clothes that have been worn. I got some of these from IKEA, because the closet has no shelves and that’s where the t-shirts et al go. It was the most brilliant move ever and I now have perfectly delicious-smelling clothes always. [Why do I LOVE wonderful smells AND YET still smoke? Bcs I am daft, that's why.] Also, there are sachets of scent that you can get and place them in between layers and they add an overall touch of freshness to the whole.

Now, ovaries. Males of the species, you are most advised to stop reading now. I am serious. You will not be grateful, especially if you’re an Anglo. Anglos are in general a bit more squirmish. And I apparently know no shame any longer but blame it on the Barren Bitches Brigade. I am Barbara Cartland where they are hardcore porn. Still, I'd like to believe there's hope for me yet, one day I'll get there. Diana, this is what I want to know. I know you will love to do your medical detecting work when you have another free hour or so. You have so many of those, I know, and it may keep you from scratching. Bring out the thick books. Imagine recalcitrant ovaries from day one. Imagine terrible dysmenorrhoea from day one and for-months-vanishing periods. Imagine hormone therapy to get things into shape. Imagine a close encounter - or several - with the wand monkey (BBB trademark) and a diagnosis of PCO (polycystic ovaries). Bizarrely but thankfully enough without the extra weight and body hair but still. Now imagine that the Dr. prescribes the pill and said ovaries are given their needed rest. Then more wand monkeys, no, still not working, then maybe better, then yes, we have occasional ovulation, then all cyst gone, then they’re back, then back on the pill we go.

Now, one of the marvellous side-effects is decrease of cramping. HA! Minulet has died on me, as it turns out, I wake up several times a night bcs it hurts so bloody much. And not only has it been making me absolutely nauseous for longer than I care abt, but it is turning me into a mad woman on all sorts of levels. I have lately been known to burst into tears for absolutely no good reason. And the Princess And The Pea potential has escalated to a scary degree. I sulk and mop and weep and wring my hands and am utterly miserable even though I went to IKEA yesterday and got a gorgeous coffee table (which tripod cat loves bcs she can hop onto it and sleep there, high up there, away from all land predators) and wool carpet and my living-room is slowly starting to look the way I want it to.

[CENSORSHIP FEST!]

Finally, this pill break has greeted me with Mittleschmerz, yes it has! I sometimes know I ovulate not only bcs of the egg white mucous but bcs it is accompanied by the most annoying lower back pain. Hullo, we have it now! My back has been killing me for 4 days now, I keep taking our Tylenol equivalent but it’s a bloody persistent pain. This never used to happen to me. Minulet has lost its touch.

WHY OH WHY??

I fear for my eggs, I truly do. So, I am going off the damn thing and will wait the requisite period and then have my hormones and ovaries tested/examined again. I know my ovaries aren’t behaving bcs pre-pill this time you could comb your hair w the reflection of my forehead and my leg hairs, though still blonde, became really long. I am, apparently, turning into a man. (How long must I wait now till all levels go back to their abnormal selves? I took it for 2 months. Another two?) I also want to check for egg quality so FSH here we come. I’ve never had that tested.

Finally, an ode to blood. Bcs we bleed when we get our periods and that blood, especially when copious, needs to go somewhere. Sometimes, it goes to unexpected places. I don’t much care for tampons bcs of their downward mobility complex [NOT upward, sorry abt that 1st version] so pads it is. Yesterday I was getting ready for my shower and took off my knickers - obviously. [If you are not a vet student, a doctor, a person of strong will you may really want to stop reading now. It’s funny - well, I think so - but you won’t thank me]. I always place them on the floor, sunny side up, bcs I then use the wrapper from the new pad to wrap the old pad in bfr disposing of it. I turned around still in my socks and stepped on the old pad, thereby acquiring a perfect heel print. I hopped in the shower with the sock on and composed this post in my head thinking “Oh what fun it will be to blog abt it!” and promptly stepped on the stupid pad again as I got out of the bathtub, only realising it after I’d gone to the hallway closet to get the knickers I’d forgotten and come back. You could have followed the trail, bread crumbs optional. Maybe next time I’ll tell you how my gynaecologist once blew on my cooter to "make it all better" but only if you really, really want me to.

Lioness Pride, where poop cake and that shedding uterine layer come to die.