I'm sharing one of the many hilarious chapters from her book, and this one happens to be one of my favorites since it deals with aging. Vikki's book will be available for pre-order on Jan. 12 2016 (Amazon, Barnes & Noble, iTunes) in case you'd like to reserve your copy early of this funny lady's book (c'mon, you know you want to!). Enjoy!
Menopause
Killed my Inner MILF
Google
“Benefits of Menopause,” and you’ll get 8,570,000 possible
links. Over 8
1/2 million articles written
on how menopause makes us stronger, sexier, more confident, and
more at peace with our bodies and our sexuality. Not
to mention the exhilarating freedom from periods, bloating, cramping,
PMS, and the constant worry about pregnancy, however slim the chance.
What
they don’t tell you in those same posts is that all that zen is
achieved after menopause is over.
It’s the prize at the end of a rather bumpy ride, during which
you’ll start questioning whether you’ll ever be sexy again.
Or if you’ll ever care.
Like
most women, I like feeling attractive, sexy, desirable.
I’ve spent more money than I probably should’ve towards that
goal over the years, and although yoga pants and no makeup are
my norm, I do clean up fairly well (which admittedly
takes longer with each passing year). I have a tiny, but
persistent, inner hot chick that still likes
stilettos, little black dresses, and the appreciative looks
from Hubs at my efforts. Menopause crashed my hotness with
a thud heard in three states.
Suddenly
I was more “Ma’am” than MILF. Men stopped whistling
at me from the street and started helping me through the
crosswalk. People no longer commented “You look so much
like your mother” and started assuming we were sisters. One
unfortunate store owner in town asked me if I was
my son’s grandmother.
(As soon as I figure out how to hide the body, he’s going to die.)
In
retrospect, I’m amazed that Hubs made it through my menopausal
years. He married a reasonably confident, arguably normal woman, and
woke up one day to an overheated, moody, questionably
sane female sobbing uncontrollably over the sudden appearance of
cankles. My MILF was gone. How menopause killed it:
1. Hot
flashes. We were out at our favorite romantic restaurant, and instead
of the coy flirting of our early years (“Gee, Big Guy, is it
hot in here or is it just you?”), it became “Is it hot
in here or what? I’m hot. Is anybody
else hot??” Repeated
requests to the uncooperative waiter to turn the thermostat
down finally ended with a screeching “Can’t you turn the
freaking heat down?!? It’s TOO FRIGGIN’ HOT IN HERE.” Hubs
dragged my sweaty body out of the restaurant, and we haven’t been
back since.
2.
Metabolism changes. Actually, mine didn’t change. It
stopped. Weight maintenance was now limited to one Fruit
Loop and a Diet Coke per day. Weight loss required colonic
cleansing and fasting. And if you like wine, no carbs for
you. Ever. Carbs plus wine make you blow up like a puffer
fish, so you have to choose. I haven’t had a carb since 2009.
3.
Fatigue. I was tired all
the time.
Bedtime went from 10:30 p.m. to 8:30 p.m., effectively
eliminating boogie nights on the dance floor, since it’s
virtually impossible to find a band that starts at 5:30.
4.
Night sweats. Yeah, nothing turns a man on more than being whacked on
the arm at 2 a.m., to “Get up” because we have to change the
cold, wet sheets. Again. After the first six months,
we both got used to just tossing beach towels over the sheets
and crawling back into bed. Take that, sex
life.
5.
Day sweats. I quit going to the gym after realizing my clothes
would be soaked, with visible sweat pouring down between my
boobs and my butt crack, and I’d only been on the treadmill
for 3 minutes. It took me longer to wipe down the machine than
it did to work out.
6.
Incontinence. I’d laugh. A little squirt. I’d sneeze.
Another little squirt. The actual need to pee? Now I’d
be clenching my Kegals while I waddle-ran to the
nearest bathroom, praying there wasn’t a line and fully
prepared to bust into the men’s room if necessary. By the end of
the evening, I smelled like Eau de Pee, sitting in wet
undies, and wondering what the hell had happened to my
life. Hubs, not surprisingly, was still not turned on.
7.
Mood swings. Some days, Hubs would come home to find me sobbing
over yet-another Hallmark commercial about the son returning
home at Christmas to his adoring little sister and happy, teary-eyed
parents. Other days, any and all comments directed at
me, from anyone in the room, on any subject, were met with
“What the hell is wrong with
you??” accompanied, when the stupidity-level warranted it, by
a smack up ‘long side the head. Hubs claimed later that every
day was a crap shoot.
8.
Physical changes. Under-arm twaddle, boobs headed towards my knees,
and hips widening, irrevocably eliminated anything sleeveless or
low-cut from my closet and would forevermore require military-grade
underwear. Menopause underwear is designed to git ‘er
done,
by pushing, lifting, and shoving defiant and migrating body
parts back into their original shape and place. We no longer
care about lace edging or cute bows. We need Kevlar
underwire and the Spanx company on speed-dial.
9. Body
heat. More consistent than hot flashes, I was basically just hot
all. the. time. We had the front door open year-round, and unless it
was raining, I had the top down on my car. In December. I turned
the house heat completely off every night and opened all the windows.
Hubs repeatedly complained that he couldn’t perform in a meat
locker. I reminded him once that it’s a bad chef who blames his
utensils, but apparently he didn’t get my humor. Nobody got
any that
night.
10.
Hunger. Suffice it to say that I was always hungry.
And somehow, I have no recollection of craving carrots.
I do remember
threatening to bludgeon Hubs to death one night for eating the last
of my Milk Duds. To this day, he’s never eaten another Dud.
11. Evening
conversations tended more towards chronic
menopausal-induced IBS than our mutual plans for our next
vacation through the wine country. Hubs, who’s never seen me pee
(not
once in
15 years) because I want to maintain a modicum of mystery in our
marriage, looked a bit stunned one night when I bent over and hiked
up the back of my dress, asking “When I bend over like this, can
you see cellulite on the backs of my legs?” He laughed so
hard, he fell off his chair, but was smart enough to leave that
question untouched.
Now,
at the end of the tunnel, I’m approaching inner peace. But it was
a humbling and often mortifying ride. And
occasionally, when I’m doing my morning prayers and meditation, my
thoughts will free-fall back to those years and I’ll ask God,
“Really??REALLY??”
I’m
still waiting for a response.
Vikki Claflin is an
author and inspirational public speaker. She lives in Hood River,
Oregon, where she writes the award-winning humor blog Laugh
Lines.
Vikki has been featured on the Michael J. Fox Foundation website,
Erma Bombeck’s Writer’s Workshop, The Huffington Post, Scary
Mommy, Midlife Boulevard, Better After 50, and Funny Times Magazine.
She also received a BlogHer14 “Voices of the Year” Humor award.
Vikki’s first book Shake,
Rattle & Roll With It: Living & Laughing with Parkinson’s
was listed as one of Amazon Editor's Favorite Books of 2014. You can
connect with Vikki and read more of her hilarious writing at
laugh-lines.net.
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