Day 118, September 18

Have you ever considered the word "Menopause?"  It is a misnomer.  When we hit the BIG M, we do not pause in our menses.  We stop.  Period.  (No pun intended.)

Usually, when we stop something, we take up something else in its place.  In the case of menopause, my body decided to take up several things to replace what it had stopped.  First, there was the water retention.  (I retain water like a camel trudging through the Sahara.)  Then there is the weight gain.  I have only to look at a carb for it to attach itself to my stomach, thighs, hips, and even my earlobes.  Let's not forget the mood swings.  When I direct "The Look" at my husband, he runs and hides.  (And well he should.)

This is far from a comprehensive list.  More to come later.  For those not yet in menopause, have I filled you with anticipation ... or dread?

Day 117, September 17

Age spots--or, as Maxine terms them "mature freckles"--have crept on to my body like a plague of locusts.  Rather than devouring crops as the locusts did with the Mormon pionners, my age spots are devouring my skin.  I have a theory that if theyare  proliferate enough, they will all grow together and I'll look like I have a tan.

For someone who has been cursed with pasty white skin, the idea of having a tan is an appealing one.  But, still ... Do I want to get that tan by having my age spots "multiply and replenish the earth?"

Sometimes, when I'm bored silly, I try connecting the dots on those parts of my body that I can reach.  I challenge myself to find a star, a square, a circle, a buffalo, whatever  comes to mind.  There's only one problem with this:  it's hard to write on wrinkled skin with a pen.  So I switched to a magic marker.

Note to self:  do not, I repeat, NOT, use an indelible marker!

Day 116, September 16

I don't know about you, but I'm tired (make that really, really tired) of Housewives shows.  There are the "Real Housewives" of New Jersey, Miami, and Palm Beach.  There are probably more, but those are the ones that stick in my mind.

Have you taken a look at those housewives?  They don't look like any housewives I've ever seen.  For one thing, they are always in full make-up.  I go for days, if not weeks, sans make-up.  And I sure as hell don't wear false eyelashes around the house.  Another thing:  these so-called housewives are all fashion-model thin and dress like aforementioned fashion models.  In addition, they must all have wonderful feet, as they are always in stilettos.  My feet started to go after the second pregnancy.  By the fourth, they were gone and I resigned myself to the "comfort shoe"aisle of the shoe department.

I'm not sure what this has to do with menopause, other than that menopausers have earned the right to rant and rail.  Or so I tell myself.  The next time you see a "real housewife," be sure to ask her for her make-up secrets.  She's bound to have a bunch.

Day 115, September 15

Do you ever wonder about the fashion advice that is handed out by style magazines?   One such magazine featured a Washington power woman, calling her "an icon of style," calling the wide belt she wore over an argyle sweater as fashion-forward and daring. 

Unless a woman is Twiggy-thin (you have to be of a certain age to know who Twiggy is), she ought not to be wearing a wide belt, or any belt for that matter, over a sweater.  It's tacky.  It also serves to emphasize droopy breasts, poochy stomach, and hips big enough to have their own zip code.

Since I boast all the above attributes, I make sure I don't wear a belt over anything.  Ever.  I try to de-emphasize those particular areas of my body.  (In case you're wondering what I do try to emphasize, it's my collarbone.  It's one of the few bones in my body that I can still find.)

Such advice causes me to wonder about the style sense of the fashion editors.  Do they really know any better (or even as much) as the rest of us?  I doubt it. 

I say, wear what suits you and be damned to the style mavens. 

PS  Maxine agrees with me.

Day 114, September 14

Do you know who I want to be when I grow up? (No, I'm not at all grown up. I'm as childish now as I was 50 something years ago.) I want to be Maxine.

Perhaps if I give you some Maxineisms, you'll understand my delight in this indomitable lady:

Know how to prevent sagging? Just eat till the wrinkles fill out.

They're not age spots. They're very mature freckles.

I've still got it, but nobody wants to see it.

At my age, checks are the only things I've got that bounce.

I'm getting into swing dancing. Not on purpose ... some parts of my body are just prone to swinging.

Let's party till the early evening.

I cleverly disguise the tiny lines around my eyes with huge wrinkles.

I'd get a face lift--but then it wouldn't match my body.


Maxine has it all figured out. Now, if only I could find a pair of glasses like hers ...

Day 113, September 13

You know you're over the hill when younger people refer to you as "Ma'am" or "My dear."  Lately, I've been "my-deared" a lot.  My hip surgeon (who looks like he is still in middle school) calls me "My dear."  The other day, another doctor called me "My dear" as well. 

I didn't mind it so much from the first doctor because, as I said, he is about the age of my grandchildren.  However, the second doctor looked to be not too much younger than myself.  And I was "my-deared" by him.  From that, I deduce that I must look more ancient than my husband, children, and grandchildren assure me that I do.

I know what you're thinking.  I can hear it now:  Hey, "My dear" isn't so bad.  I beg to differ.  It falls in the same category as "She doesn't look half bad for her age."  It's a case of damning with with faint praise. 

Ah, well.  I suppose I should be grateful that I'm damned with any kind of praise at all.

Day 112, September 12

For today, let's return to the subject of questionable taste in advertisements and commericals.

The other day, I was subjected to a prolonged commercial on television about incontinence.  Okay.  Incontinence exists.  We get it.  But do the manufacturers of various pads have to go on and on (and on) about it?  Give us credit that we can find our own way to the incontinence products aisle of the drug store and leave it at that.

Around the same time, I stumbled onto a commercial for "mesh relapse" corrective surgery.  This was sponsored by a lawyer who wanted to represent anyone who had had their mesh relapse.  Seriously?  If I wanted to go to court for redress for my relapse, I would not choose someone who advertised in such a vulgar manner.

Finally, I ran across a commercial for a product guaranteed to cure "feminine itch."  Once again, give us menopausers some credit for taking care of our own itch.  Don't broadcast it on television while I'm watching a program with my grandchildren.

Okay.  There you have it.  Vulgar advertisements for sensitive conditions that should remain private.