I’m developing a menopause conspiracy theory because menopause has become the Area 51 of medicine with alien forces sapping women’s hormones.
My search on “great works of literature about menopause” is disappointing. Why can’t I find myself in the literary canon of my time?
I once went on a date with a spider. I was supposed to be on a date with a man, but the spider was the only thing I could think about. For days.
After 32 years of marriage I’m pretty skeptical of monogamy, but maybe that’s because I tried it and it didn’t work.
Eight years after my husband died, every man I saw had a checkbox beside his face. Would I or wouldn’t I? Under the right circumstances, I might.
I remember the days of the Miss, Mrs., Ms. fight. I checked the Ms. box because I wanted the right to define myself.
The experience of menopause can be mitigated with new lubricants, new toys, new technology, and new thinking.