HORMONES

Hormones are annoying. No, annoying sounds a bit cowardly... terribly sneaky bitches they are. They can make me feel like the world is being pulled out from under me. As if very fine sand is finding a way where I especially don't want it to go. It itches, it's irritating and it pisses me off.... 'Doesn't anyone see how horrible it is not to be seen? As if it's normal to run a business, take care of your children and stepchildren, keep up the housework, put dinner on the table every night, study on the side , covet your husband, never miss hockey, football, swimming lessons, coaching and speech therapy appointments and lovingly embrace every scrape and ingrown toenail? No, that's potty-mouthed not normal and I've had enough! Do you hear that; ENOUGH!!!'

There. That's a relief. Recognisable? I think so. After all, we all have them, hormones, also called demons by me, are in all beautiful women's bodies. And we cannot live without them, they accomplish very serious tasks of vital importance every day.

There are those women with whom things seem to always go their way. You know, those Sunday women. They are kind, correct, intelligent, make the right jokes at (very important) the right time, always look radiant and are loved. And I can never catch these seemingly extremely friendly women with a womanly demon. And I experience that as very annoying as soon as I am bothered by my terribly sneaky brats. This woman is labelled untrustworthy in my brain. And as soon as a certain person has entered this room in my brain, I experience issues with this lady in question. Namely, I go out of my way to catch her on a womanly and human demon. Because hey, she is also only human.

Several Sunday women are hopping around on the hockey field. They have everything in perfect order, never forget to bring drinks for their sporting offspring and know all the rules of play and conduct as hockey mothers. Last season, I bombed three of them as unreliable.

One of them is Suus. A really nice person, spontaneous, good head, nice Rotterdam chat, knows everyone on the sports field and arranges everything for her daughter and the team in which her daughter plays. Her husband is bombarded by her as coach on day 1 and how grateful everyone is to her. Her husband is not the ADHD-I-have-too-much-energy type but how glad we are that we did not have to toss for that role as coach. Throughout the year, I don't manage to catch her with one minuscule womanly snarl or deadly-I-can't-bite-your-head-off look, she is as steady as a fossil.

We play the last game of the season away and during the game I am leaning against the fence next to Suus. Suddenly, I hear a prrrrrrtssss sound and I look at my neighbour in amazement. It is as if I am looking at a deer in headlights. Suus has just let out the sweetest breeze ever. I look at her smiling and say; ‘had eggs for breakfast?’ To which Suus hisses; ‘I just pooped my pants, I have to go home now.’ She turns and walks wide eyed with a head like a tomato towards the car park. Suddenly I realise I still have my Pavone panties in the car from a photo shoot that week and run after Suus. The perfect Suus with size S accepted that day that I saved her from an embarrassing moment. And I enjoyed being allowed to realise that we are all deliciously imperfect including my Suus with a slip full of poo.

Love,

Janneke