Really – whatever it is – untidy cupboards, the inability to get off your sofa to do things or the need to detoxify something that was never toxic in the first place – there’s not just one shop for it, there’s an entire industry.
Then you start to wonder if there’s a place for menopausal women.
Somewhere with fans and iced water, somewhere that only stocks the kind of natural fabrics that keep you cool and don’t show the sweat, somewhere that sorts the snake oil from the science. Somewhere you can buy varifocals that don’t steam up. An emporium that celebrates our wisdom and humour, that understands we haven’t stopped doing anything – except taking ourselves too seriously.
It’s not as if women aren’t something of a target market. You can get pens for women, razors for women, hotel rooms for women and beer for women. Yet, when you come to one of the few exclusively female experiences, there’s bugger all.
Read on | In A Bun Dance