I’m NOT Going Through Menopause

I’m fifty and I’m not going through menopause.
I know this because every year I have my doctor draw blood and check it. Who knew there’s a test for menopausal women?
This only became a question because my husband kept saying, ‘Oh, you’re just going through menopause.”
No, I’m just super-sensitive and it has nothing at all to do with menopause thank you very much.
Most women, and apparently their husbands, dread menopause.
Let me just say that having your last child late in life does affect your perspective. When I started experiencing symptoms at 38, I thought then that I was probably just going through menopause early. I was afraid to tell anyone I was pregnant, for fear I’d have to go back and explain it was just a hot flash.
Now every time I get symptoms of any kind I think I’m pregnant. Not that I’m neurotic or anything.
All my friends, of a certain age you understand, are going through menopause, so I feel kinda left out. I’m really due to be menopausal. I’ve earned it.
I’m looking forward to having an excuse for my temper tantrums.
“Oh, Mom’s just menopausal,” I imagine my children saying as they tiptoe around the house avoiding my hypersensitive feelings.
“But you better clean up your room anyway,” they’ll add tenderly. In my fantasy world.
The reason that menopause hasn’t struck me yet is bound to be because I had that child late in life.
Or maybe it’s because I just love my estrogen cream.
It’s fragrance-free, plus it goes on like silk.
The instructions say to use only a dab, so I am not recommending the following course of action. I have no idea what the consequences are; side-effects could involve additional mammary glands, sort of like the blue Hindu goddesses I see in art museums.
But I spread that cream all over. In gobs.
I really like it as a face cream. Originally, I had hoped that it might hold back the wrinkles. Uh, no, that doesn’t work. Apparently.
I also love yams. And soy. I developed a taste for all-things-estrogen when my daughters moved away and left an estrogen vacuum at my house.
Suddenly, I found myself overwhelmed with testosterone. Or, as one of my friends said when they got their new puppy, “No more penises!”
I joined my mother’s garden club. I went back to my sorority meetings. Anything to be with other women.
I call my mom a lot. Bless her.
“You know, men go through menopause, too,” she told me.
What a relief. I bet that explains why my husband is so super-sensitive.
Cathy Primer Krafve, aka Checklist Charlie, lives and writes with a Texas twang. Comments are invited at http:/checklistcharlie.blogspot.com or cathykrafve@gmail.com.