Just as some of the older women in my life have begun to exclaim of hot flushes (“Is it just me or is this room suddenly boiling?!”), I’ve noticed a change sweeping over the twenty-something women in my life.
Now in my late twenties, the very things I used to hold dear (like heading out until all hours partying and dancing until my cheap heels were worn through) are the things I now imagine I’d be forced to endure in an episode of Fear Factor.
All of a sudden a switch has been flicked and heading out to a new, inner-city bar that only serves tequila and popcorn fills me with anger.
According to Amelia Diamond, who wrote about this phenomenon for Man Repeller, my diagnosis is “Social Menopause”. Similar to actual menopause, my fertile years of having the stamina to endure speaking to others over loud music in bars are over. No, I’m not sad about it. Not even a tiny bit.