Is It Me? Am I Ben Affleck?

Forget who's side you're on in the most unsurprising divorce of the year and tell me that Ben isn't channeling textbook menopausal rage. I am not against this, FYI

This is not a post about The Internet turning on J.Lo. Or even The Internet turning on Blake Lively. Although both of these things are true of this week. Which seems pretty crazy when you consider how unshakeable both these women are in their fame. But no, this is to say that divorce or no divorce, Ben Affleck’s energy - his vibe - has hit Peak Menopause.

Quick catch up: After two years of marriage, J.Lo filed for divorce from Ben Affleck this week. On his birthday a week ago, J.Lo – social media official if ever the term existed for Gen Xers – posted herself in a nude Dior dress. Could there be more clanging a siren in Hollywood that things are officially over between the two of them than this thorny non-post? Nary a mention of Her Beloved’s birthday, despite the fact that just a few short months earlier she was releasing an entire film and new album based on their enduring love story.

So here we are. We’re divided into camps – there’s the No One Cares Crowd. I’m sorry, you’re much deeper and more evolved humans and you live a waaaay more fulfilled life than the rest of us. You should probably get on with your day of being cool. And then there’s All Of The Rest of Us – divided into these two factions: Ben Was Always A Grump And Jennifer Is A Queen versus J.Lo Was Always A Diva And Ben Saved Himself… I land somewhere in the middle.

Anyone who divorces Jennifer Garner (Alias fan til death do us part) and gets himself a full – and I do mean full as in arse-cheeks to scapulas – back tattoo of questionable design really shouldn’t be let loose in the upper echelons of the dating pool in a hurry. And J.Lo, I would hazard, is the very tippiest tip of the upper echelons of the dating pool. Alas, she also should probs have thought twice about rekindling a love affair with a handsome ex-lover… but we all know the power of a good Facebook stalk on a bad day and where that can lead.

I know I could say the same for him. He could also have known better, but frankly, if J.Lo came a-knocking on my door – diva or no diva – I’d have given it a go, regardless of what my therapist, eldest daughter and best friends told me! I mean, she’s J.Lo, fo fork’s sake.

So, why is Ben my new poster child for menopausal women? *Research taken from a sample size of one – myself.

The Iced Coffee

Ben’s bevvy of choice is a giant-sized iced coffee, generally manhandled with a good collection of other bits he is always carrying. Does this sound familiar? So familiar should ‘carrying things’ sound to the Female Mind that there are entire social media meme accounts dedicated to the task – my favourite is simply called ‘Girls Carrying Shit’ and it shows off the ridiculous lengths we will go to, to ensure we have everything when we leave the house… Keys, coffee, bag, notebook, Airpods, water bottle, lip balm, jersey, heels, children.

Dudes – except Ben? Well, they leave the house as themselves and not as one of Father Christmas’s most beleaguered elves. So, there’s Ben and his stuff. And his iced coffee. Iced because like women experiencing hot flashes will tell you, we need the ice in the caffeine, not the steaming, foamed milk. I am not wrong on this. You cannot be menopausal and living through summer and drinking coffee and on the move, all while carrying lots of things. You just cannot. It’s too many layers of potential Heat Unknown. The iced coffee offers both caffeine in large doses and lots of cold for your molten insides.

The Unapologetic Eye-roll

I have always been terribly fond of an eye-roll. I consider myself something of a master in the divine art of eye-rolling, in fact. Like fellow Olympian athletes spotting talent from across a crowded Village, I can tell you that in the eye-roll stakes, Ben too is a master.

His eye-rolls are brutal, shameless, brazenly obvious and utterly unapologetic. So, you can see me? Pah. So, you are a paparazzi photographer who will beam this eye roll into hundreds of thousands of global fans? Bah humbug. So you are the cameraman at a very fancy award show who keeps panning past me and my wife? Haha – I thumb my nose at you.

His eye-rolls are the kind of spectacular eye-roll that now embarrasses my punks. Like Ben, I do them knowingly because I am older and wiser and I want YOU – the focus of my eye-roll - to know at a cellular level that my eyes are currently being rolled. At you.

It is a level of passive aggressive tomfoolery that only the enraged menopausal woman has truly come to terms with. I salute you, sir.

The Flourishy Door Slam

A surefire way to ensure that everyone in the immediate vicinity knows that they have pissed you off? Without being a drama queen or someone who actually communicates their ire? Why, it’s a door slam.

Door slams of the house variety can literally curdle blood, but a car door slam? Well, that’s the very pinnacle of joy. Door slams in the house can make other people cross. Door slams of the car, leave the subject of your slammery in stony cocooned silence in the newly-sealed car for as long as it takes you to meander around to your side and slowly, gently, like you are not a complete psychopath, slide into the car, pop your own door quietly shut and gently turn over the engine.

To anyone watching, the door slammer could have simply been ensuring your safety, so you – the sorry slamee – must now perch quietly in your seat or throw caution to wind and freak the fork out, thus making you look like the maniac. Genius!

It is a trick that mothers the universe over have been using since cars were invented. But Ben? Ben does it to Jen, while carrying an iced coffee. And the menopause in me honoured the menopause in him.

Because there was also the jaunty li’l flick of the door at the end. Like it was a slam with a flourish. And damn, if I haven’t wanted to try my hand at that ever since. You can watch it here for practise

The Committed Stomp

Alas, the stomp! Low level irritation got you down? No one coming when you call them for dinner? No one rushing to the car to help unpack the groceries? No one loading the dirty dishes from the kitchen sink? Stomp, baby! Stomp. Stomp proud.

Words are unnecessary when all you have to do is add volume to your Walking Away Walk. Extra points if you have to barge past someone. It says: ‘I don’t need to stoop to words when my actions speak so much louder’. It is a classic in the arsenal.

Ben uses it to utterly majestic effect at key moments, like leaping out of the limousine and onto the red carpet. Truly, he is king of the ‘I’ll hold your stupid bag, but I will not be happy about it’. Again, as someone left holding the sweating Bacardi Breezers while 25 punks pile into a Tiktok, I get it. I can literally hear my aunt yelling: ‘Who am I? Chopped liver?!’ And I can hear Ben screaming it silently into the void too. Or not so silently - check it out on Tiktok.

So, in a world of believing that Jen is the ultimate diva, I think a hot new contender has entered the Villa. It’s you, Ben. And much as I am loathe to admit it, I think I am more of a Ben Affleck than a J.Lo.

Where do you sit on the Bennifer scale? Iced coffee-drinking, snarky and eye-rolling or so above it all that there’s not a hair, nor a visible panty (or smile) line, out of place?

Fork, I wish I was a J.Lo. Pass me my iced coffee 🙄

PS The very handsome pics are snatched from Entertainment Weekly, shot by Guy Aroch.