One broad's reluctant journey to the dark side of womanhood.

When a ‘slender’ tampon is meant as a compliment February 18, 2014

Filed under: Necessary evils — kerimenopause @ 1:10 pm
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“Are we the last normal, boring couple we know?”  my husband asks after I tell him about another one of our couple friends has hit marital rock bottom.  And when I say another, I mean there have been A LOT.   In the 20+ years we have been together, we’ve watched couple after couple break up, divorce, become roommates, and/or just disappear from our lives as ‘couple friends.’  This has become such a regular occurrence that we are reluctant to become friends with new couples lest we some how influence the end of their marriage.

Save yourself the time speculating that we influence their demise on some weird, kinky level.  This isn’t 1970 and we are not swingers.  We don’t make suggestive invitations to take our ‘friendship’ to some web-cam level relationship.  No, no.  Our big crime is that we are ridiculously happy with one another.  Not only does our kid have parents married to each other,  but he has parents who actually like each other.  On some level, we consider ourselves freaks.

The undeniable truth is this:  Everyone (read: women) loves my husband.  Could this be the reason couples disintegrate before our eyes?

You can ask any of my friends – male or female – about my husband and they will tell you he is ridiculously kind.  This is the guy who will wait on you hand and foot if you visit our home.  He asks every woman he meets a million questions and makes them feel like, well, a million.  And that, my friends, is why I think so many couples we know end up splitting.  It’s my husband’s fault.  After an afternoon with us, women go home and start thinking ‘why can’t my husband be like that.’  In fact, I had a friend tell me once that, “He is the best husband I’ve ever met.  You better take a lot better care of him.”  Was that some kind of threat?  Or what? You’re going to take my man?  Please, whatever I am doing, or not doing, he’s been around for two decades so I think I got this.  Incidentally, it is so weird to get marital advice from a person whose marriage is imploding.

And since I’m already off the subject traveling down a side road, maybe I should just air the dirty laundry about what a rotten person he truly is at home.  Here it is, the ‘worst’ I can come up with.  My husband is a guy

~who begrudgingly agrees to pick up tampons at the store for me.  Then brings home ‘slender’ because he thinks it is a compliment.

~who helps me get ready for a party of 50 (his family) by cleaning the gutters.

~who hears me complain about my weight daily and then offers me Wavy Lays potato chips when I say I’m hungry.

~who wonders out loud, as I walk out the door, if the price sticker or, worse, size sticker on my new jeans should still be on them.

Are there things about him that drive me bananas?  Of course!  My step-daughter asked me one time if there were things about him that drive me crazy and if I ever tell him.  My answer: Yes and No.  Sure he can get on my nerves.  But my theory is this:  If I point out all the little things that bug me, than I am giving him permission to tell me all the things that bug him about me.  And I do not want to open that floodgate!

Truth is, I think there are so many unhappy women out there that I could bottle up my husband and sell him out of the back of my car  like a modern-day Snake Oil Salesman. I’d call it ‘Hubby Hooch.’   I would bedazzle a former food truck.  Hit the road.  Sit in the parking lots of places that hold all those mom’s meetings… after PTA meetings… at soccer fields.  From the loud speaker I could announce: ‘Ladies and women… step right up.  Get your self-sacrificing-loves-your-thighs-no-matter-what-size-they-are-tells-you-you’re-beautiful-every-day-man-right-here-in-a-bottle.’  All the while, Justin Timberlake’s Sexy Back will be pounding in the back ground…

I’m bringing sexy back
Them other @$%! don’t know how to act
Come let me make up for the things you lack
‘Cause you’re burning up I gotta get it fast

So, are you asking yourself ‘What is the point of this blathering?’  It’s pretty deep and philosophical actually.  I suggest to you today that maybe the secret to marriage is simply saying ‘thank you’ for the slender tampon and realizing sometimes a man’s actions are the words you aren’t hearing.


Shock & Ahhh (or mammograms & facials) August 20, 2010

Filed under: Necessary evils — kerimenopause @ 8:46 am
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I am one of those people who loves making lists and checking off items on my ‘to do’ list. OK, OK, I didn’t say I exactly DID all those things on the list. Often my list is just an exercise in practicing my penmanship. Oh but I do so love good office supplies. I’d rather go to Office Max than Victoria’s Secret. The feel of a great pen that fits your fingers perfectly, filled with ink that effortlessly glides across a crisp sheet of wide rule paper (I write big and bold, no college rule for me). Oh… I’m sorry.. what was I talking about…

Yes, yes, list making, more specifically the checking off of something. As part of this obsession, I also look forward to those great milestones in life as a woman. I seriously couldn’t wait for my period to start (now I can’t wait for it to end). After all the arrival of ‘Uncle Charlie’ (which is what we called menstruation when I was in middle school – I do not, to this day, know why) meant I had arrived. I wasn’t a child anymore. The real importance of my period: I finally had something in common with the popular girls. Tough crowd those 13 year olds in Conrad, Montana in 1974… I’d take any common ground.

I knew when I went off to college… I’d ‘get’ to have my first my first appointment with a gynecologist. Again, I’m from Montana. It was the early 80s and you didn’t send your teenager for a pelvic until they were out of high school back then! Well, at least, my mom didn’t and she raised 4 daughters so seems like she knew what was best. (Yes, my sisters, I am laughing at that line.) Anyway, whoohoo, I could get a prescription for birth control pills. Mom, it’s not that I needed them. Really. I promise. Check, one more ‘big moment’ done and, wow!, I was only 18!

When you are on the verge of serious womanhood – at 18 – there is a certain amount of yuck that you feel as some old geezer doc (probably at least 30) pokes around your breasts looking for lumps in an annual exam. By the way, I never really call the ‘girls’ breasts, but I thought I’d take the high road for a moment. Is my moment done? Good. Anyway, it was quite another to consider the idea of the dreaded mammogram. Good follower of rules that I am, I put it off until I turned 40 as is recommended. Honestly by this time, after breastfeeding a really fat baby two years before and having my perfect 32B go to a 40D, and back down to something in between, perky boobs were really not part of the picture. Squish my boobs? Honestly, not much of a stretch, so to speak.

I have had mammograms for almost 10 years. I am well aware what happens. Is it painful? No. Is it unpleasant? YES. But, ladies, c’mon, think about it. Now here is where I veer off the path of popular thought. It is 30 minutes all about me. It is a half hour of being the Royal Highness of Boobalot. The Queen of Tata. How often in your daily life do you get to have all the focus just on you? And just so you know, if I can make something all about me… well…

Today is my day for my annual check. It is also my opportunity to say, no scream: IT IS ALL ABOUT BALANCE! I like to extend my ‘all about me day’ with a special after squishing treat.

The facial. The hundred dollar experience. The hour of having your pores magnified to the size of small craters. Paying to have a flawless skinned woman ask you, do you exfoliate? I say, ‘yes, of course.’ I am not about to tell her that sometimes my pillow case is my makeup remover!

Schedule that mammogram – do it for all the people who love you. Then, schedule that facial or massage – do it for you. Do the one, knowing what awaits. Lie down on that warmed table. Wrap in that clean, white, cotton towel. Listen to that soft music. Relax in that quiet, dimly lit room. As you are flat on your back, having your skin cleansed, scrubbed and moisturized, your breasts have ‘stepped’ to the side for you to relish this moment. And, face it, if you are a woman of a certain age, without implants, flat on your back… the ‘girls’ are going to slide to the side for you… they’re generous that way.


Want to shake up your friends and make sure they are taking care of themselves? Host a ‘Check Your Boobies’ party! No joke. Let me know when and where!


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