Let's talk about one of the scariest things a menopausal woman can do. No, it isn't having a mammogram. Nor is it being weighed in the doctor's office. (Though that's close.)
Did you guess shopping for a swimsuit? If so, you're right.
If there were one thing designed to humiliate and dishearten a woman, it's standing in a dressing room, with the world's most unflattering mirrors and lighting, and pulling on a swimsuit. I've seen grown women break down and cry uncontrollably. Dressing room attendants carry tissues and medicinal chocolate on their persons for just such occasions.
We can shell out small fortunes for swiming suits that have built-in tummy controls and delux spandex designed to hold us in in all the right places, but what about our thighs? Unless we wear a swim skirt of some sort, those jiggly, joggling thighs are out there for all to see and snicker over.
And what is the deal about dressing room mirrors and lights that turn an otherwise passable, if not attractive, woman into something between the creature from the Black Lagoon and a zombie? Surely store owners could find mirrors that didn't distort and lighting that didn't cast every skin tone with a greenish tinge.
Still, we women, gluttons for punishment that we are, keeping coming back.