I have an incredibly vivid memory. My mum and I were in Selfridges, we were meeting up with my big sister and her new boyfriend, and we were all sat in the café, having some cake or whatever it was. It was all pretty pleasant. I remember getting very bored however. I couldn’t sit still, I wanted to go and have a look at all the stuff, not eat poncy cake. I was five.
They were sat there, chatting away, about things and stuff that I didn’t understand, or care about very much. I didn’t have anything to do. I noticed something. I didn’t realise I shouldn’t say it out loud. There was a lull in the conversation. This was my chance to say what I wanted to say. My sister had a sip of her tea, my mum smiled at me, I smiled back. This was my moment. So I said it. I said, with the smile still on my face, I said,
“You’ve got a moustache, mummy.”
There was an awkward pause, a pregnant silence. I immediately realised I’d said something wrong, I wanted to run away and hide in the toy department when I saw the embarrassment on my poor mum’s face. She didn’t say anything. No one did. It was ignored, we pretended I didn’t say it all, and they continued talking about holidays and jobs and relatives I didn’t know. It was never mentioned again, but man, that guilt is still heavy in my stomach, that I embarrassed and shamed my own mum, when we were having a day out and enjoying ourselves. She’d worn her fancy earrings, and was wearing her favourite perfume, she looked pretty, she was probably feeling OK about herself until I went and said the first thing that popped into my head.
Karma, my friends. Ho ho ho. Karma, it’ll get ya, eventually.
Fast forward ten years after the Selfridges moustache fiasco, and what happens? I get a motherfucking moustache, don’t I? And not only do I get a moustache, I get sideburns. Oh, and what are they? A couple, no, actually, not a couple, maybe 10 – 20 thick dark hairs on my chinny chin chin and jaw line too for good measure.
Karma. Mother FRICKING karma.
Turns out I’ve got me some dodgy eggs. Or, in medical terms, polycystic ovaries. Lots of little cysts on my ovaries that piss about with my lady hormones, and make any boy hormones in my body more active and aggressive, as well as being “excessively” hairy, as those charmers at the NHS put it, the symptoms can include;
- Irregular or light periods.
- Weight gain.
- Hair loss from the head.
Marvellous! So I’m fat, spotty, AND hairy, the hair on my head is thinning, my periods are, well, fucked. AND I could be infertile?
I know what you’re thinking, “Hang on a little minute there, you’ve got a kid! Look, I can see his little face smiling at me from the right hand side of your bloody page!”
Yes. You would be correct. I grew that there Bean in my womb of womby wonderfulness, (with a bit of help from my mister, admittedly), the boy did indeed burst from my ladyparts in dramatic fashion. I didn’t steal him from ASDA. He is a product of my dodgy eggs. Thing is though, PCOS (Polycystic Ovary Syndrome) isn’t taken at all seriously once you’ve had a child. I only found out about the dodgy eggs following a somewhat traumatic operation, that resulted in me losing my appendix in emergency surgery. They had to have a good old root around my innards to discover my appendix was exploding and leaking poisonous yuck into me and well, killing me actually. I found out about my naffed up ovaries after, the surgeon said it as an after thought. “So yes, Miss Sheppard, well, that was bad, no? You’re appendix were like CRAZY exploding and infected and well, killing you. Oh also, we found you have some bad eggs too. OK, take the cocodamol, don’t touch your stitches, OK BYE!”
Right, maybe not word for word what my surgeon told me EXACTLY, but the general gist of it, with some um… added flair. It’s all fine. I’m sure. One day, when we’re ready, I’m sure I’ll find out.
Anyway, the moral to my story, in my unavoidable roundabout way, is…
NEVER TELL YOUR MUM SHE HAS A MOUSTACHE!
And yes, I’m aware that ovaries aren’t eggs. But Bad Egg Holders doesn’t have the same right to it, eh?
BTW, my Merry Fucking Giveaway ends on Friday at midnight – don’t forget to enter to win Christmas pampering goodness.