So last year I turned fifty and all hell broke loose with my hormones. I had expected some misery would come my way but I was not prepared for what happened to me. First let me say that I never let all the comments about me not looking my age (wow you could be thirty!) go to my head. Looking a lot younger than you are can have its downside. In my case, because I'm cute and I have a youthful energy and personality, people sometimes don't take me seriously--when I want them to. Well anyway, I knew in the back of my mind my youthful joyride was going to end in the near future. With menopause right around the corner, in the back of my mind I feared the estrogen would dry up and so would my skin, like a pickled prune. When I allowed myself to think about this, I began to cling to all those comments about how good I looked very tightly. Why? Well I remember how beautiful my mother looked before she went through "the change". It seemed that overnight she turned into an old leather chair. Not that this is the worst thing menopause has to offer, but its pretty bad. I think that's why you should be married when you go through this phase of your life. There aren't many guys out there shopping for an old leather chair these days. And hey I don't blame them. What's that you say?--what about personality?doesn't it count for something?
Of course it does. But it matters more in the midwest, here in LA, not so much. So while I was worrying about turning into a prune or a leather chair, my hormones took a different route and started cooking up something really sinister.



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