I am a woman of a certain age. Certain age, such a charming euphemism for um, well . . . menopause.
Oh, that word. Gray hair, wrinkles, sagging body parts and, let’s not forget – dry eye syndrome. (wink-wink) It’s not a pretty picture. But, can I admit something here? I’m loving it!
That’s right. Abso-f**king-lutely loving it! Why? Because bad girl AL has nearly obliterated the good girl (or whatever was left of her) right out of my psyche and physical body. Good riddance, I say, but not everyone is bound to agree.
- the guy in the pickup truck who had the nerve to throw up his hands in some histrionic act of male driving supremacy and exasperation because I forced him to drive down a parking lot aisle filled with pedestrians and children at a reasonable rate of speed
- the check-out woman at a local department store who thought it was more important to take care of a telephone inquiry instead of waiting on the customer (me) standing right in front of her with a purchase
- my locker mate at the crowded gym who appropriates twice as much space as anyone else for all of the personal crap she drags around with her
and, hey, it’s only THURSDAY.
Yeah, I’m psychotic – hear me roar. This is SO MUCH fun.
And the sagging body parts thing? Got that licked. Weight training with big-boy barbells does amazing things to the female form. You get lean AND you get balls.
Menopause gives you license to use ’em.