Yesterday was my anniversary. No, not my wedding anniversary. It was one year ago that I had my last period. Yes, my friends. Menopause. Defined as occurring 12 months after the last period and signaling the end of menstrual cycles. Now, being that I am quite a few years older than average, I was more than ready for this momentous occurance. Yep, yep, yep. More than ready. Never had any symptoms, felt perfectly fine, no period. This is %^#*in’ great!!! Until about 6 months in. All of a sudden, I’m hot as hell, I can’t sleep, I look like Karl Malden, and I think I’m growing a beard. Now, wait a minute. Do you ever see Karl Malden in those comercials for relief from menopause symptoms? No. You see beautiful, older women who refuse to take vaginal dryness and painful intercourse lying down! Because, damn it! They no longer need to use condoms! They’re gonna have sex whenever, wherever they want to! Now, I can only speak for myself, but between the Paxil and menopause and the beard and Karl’s nose in the mirror, I don’t care if I never have sex again. Where’s that woman in the damn commercials? I had a dream the other night that my husband left me for a younger, prettier, less selfish woman who dusted, and actually wanted to have sex once in a while. When I told him about the dream, he laughed in that low, sweet, endlessly patient way he has and said, “Tranquila, Mama, estoy aquí contigo, siempre”. I am here with you forever. Than he whispered, “Te quiero, Karl, er…Caryn”.
Boy Meets Girl