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Living Libido Loco!

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Did you read my last week’s blog, “Confessions of Menopausal Women Who Can’t Keep Their Hands Off Their Men?” Neither did I! And if the title above is the exact same variation of the Ricky Martin song that plays (and replays) in your home….we need to talk.

Sometimes it seems the world revolves around sex. Everyone is fantasizing about doing it, actually doing it, talking about what it was like to have done it, or hoping they will do it again soon. Women our age feel there’s one big universal joke circulating, only we’re missing the punchline. Sadly, we often ARE the punchline. Which cake makes women hate sex? Wedding cake. Hmmmm.

Here are the reasons most studies cite for women losing interest in sex: Hormonal Imbalances, Stress, Anxiety, Irritability, Fatigue, Weight Gain, Depression, Hot Flashes/Temperature Changes, and Pain or Discomfort during Sex. Coincidentally these happen to be signs of perimenopause or menopause as well. And interestingly enough, addressing the first reason, (Hormonal Imbalances) will often alleviate all the others listed. So I always remind my girlfriends that this is precisely where to begin. In fact I’m currently involved (alongside my amazing doctor) in the hormonal balancing act myself, so at least I’ll play cards with a full deck once again.

Another reason a woman’s libido can decline is often not given much attention in research. Low Self-Esteem. Poor body image and insecurities skyrocket when we compare ourselves to airbrushed and photo-shopped images the media bombards us with daily. Or contrasting a friend’s appearance to our own. C’mon, we’ve all done this. Walked into a Super Bowl Sunday party like a relative of Levi Strauss – – evaluating all the other female forms in their jeans. A conversation with our man will thus ensue. “I’m the only one here wearing stretch denim.” To which he responds, “Wanna jog with me tomorrow?” An innocent invitation because he loves our company, right? Wrong! “Oh! So you admit I look awful tonight?!” Because “Hell hath no fury like a woman whose pants are poorly worn!” And now this pitiful guy will be playing solitaire all night.

Confidence also plummets because we remember how we used to look. Jealous much? Yep, we’re actually envious of a younger version of ourselves! We try on jeans from the 70’s and get furious when a seam rips, hoping Gloria Vanderbilt looks heavy and wrinkled today. That’s right – – “Hell also hath no fury like a woman whose pants are torn!” Or we peruse our wedding album sadly humming, “The Way We Were.” But woe to the man who happens to walk in as we’re muttering, “Damn, I never realized how good I looked back then,” when he nods his head in zealous agreement. “Oh! So you admit I look awful today?!” And now this same pitiful guy will be playing 52 card pick-up all night.

So, what’s the solution? I won’t pretend there’s one single answer, especially in a blog. But I know making peace with ourselves while cultivating inner love is the key to stepping out of pathetic puddles of pity. Surround yourself with compassionate women who can relate. Swap the measure of value from our exterior facade to our beautiful interior essence. Identify areas of our lives (aside from physical looks) that need attention and lavish some on them. Become passionate about a new charity, career, hobby, craft, skill or sport. But for now, start small and just cook something nourishing, yet exotic for dinner. Who knows? Tomorrow morning when that same poor guy comes strolling in with a compliment – – “Last night was great!” – – he may not just be talking about your new Hot ‘n Spicy Shrimp Curry recipe!

Fifty Shades of No Way!

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If that’s the version of the recent bestseller you’re reading in your house, this is for you! However, if you’re too busy having sex to read this blog, then you obviously don’t believe in statistics. Research shows the majority of females (in our age range) have low or no sex drive. But apparently, a mere 15% are quite the opposite. If you fall in the latter category of highly sexually “driven” women, before you quit reading this to “rev up your engine” again, I have a favor to ask – – Can I please carpool with you?!? Okay, since this is a humor blog, I am permitted to joke a bit, but there’s a common misconception that lack of libido is a trivial issue. And until it is taken seriously, women will continue to suffer. Unless these same women talk openly with their partners and doctors about how disturbing they find their lack of desire, (hey, we aren’t having sex, we may as well use the extra time in our schedules to talk about WHY we aren’t having sex!) nothing will ever change.

Professor John Studd, (a distinguished gynecologist from England and chairman of the British Menopause Society) is angered by what he sees as the dismissive attitude of many doctors to the problem of low sex drive in women. First of all, go ahead and google his last name so you can put to rest the idea that I made it up! Then read this quote from him – – “Low libido is a very common condition. My patients are aged anywhere from 30 to 70. I think it’s a tragedy when an important part of their lives just disappears, women are expected to do absolutely nothing.”

Well well, Dr. Studd… I’m 49 and doing absolutely nothing this weekend — shall we make London Bridge fall down? Err, I mean…I couldn’t agree with you more that honest communication is a crucial component here. Just look at all the men who fill a Viagra prescription so they can keep up with the women they think want MORE performance. And then to partake in some next day “Vi-Brag-ra” with their buddies on the golf course, of course. Meanwhile, we females are filled with tremendous “Viaggravation,” because the only performance we actually want is viewed from third row, center, orchestra seats. “Wicked” anyone?

So how do we detangle ourselves from this woven web of misinformation and intertwined assumptions that have long been perpetrated? And how do we dispel the myths about hormonal balancing, which in many cases is all that’s needed to bring back sexual desire? I am living proof that using testosterone will not deepen a woman’s voice – just yesterday Disney asked me to fill in for one of their high-pitched characters – – Menopausal Minnie Mouse! And if it grew excessive hair, wouldn’t all men be rubbing testosterone by the bottle on their bald spots?

But don’t take my word for it, get all your sexual questions answered and fallacies set straight by showing up to your nearest bookstore to check out all the new Menopausal Guides on this very subject. Oh, and if you don’t bump into me in one of the aisles, it surely means I’m now one of the 15% too busy having sex to leave my house. Okay, that may be a bit optimistic. If I’m absent, it means I’m writing my own new novel, “Fifty Shades of…Well, Okay!”

PS. I know you’re still wondering – – why do those 15 percent of menopausal females want so much sex? Well, they claim they no longer fear pregnancy. I don’t know if I buy that logic, but let me think about it while I do housework. Scrubbing my (thank goodness, bunless!) oven is a total turn-on!

Somewhere Over The Abstain Bow

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“Sometimes I think it would be easier to follow the Yellow Brick Road and find Oz than to find out where my sex life went during menopOZ.” ~ Me! = Stephanie Lewis

Yesterday in the waiting room of my new doctor’s office, I overheard two husbands conferring in whispered tones. “Cindy has Vaginal Atrophy,” one husband confided. “Well, we’re here because Trixie, the little woman, has SAD,” said the other husband. At which point I could no longer restrain myself. “Listen you!” I said to the second husband, “I’d be blue too if my guy referred to me as Trixie, The Little Woman!” Next, unleashing my wrath on the first man, I shouted, “And I’ve heard of Trophy Wives, but displaying female genitalia-shaped awards on your fireplace mantle is a new low.” Both men rolled their eyes, muttered “Mood Swing Mama” under their breath, then proceeded to inform me that S.A.D stands for Sexual Arousal Disorder while Vaginal Atrophy is an inflammation. As they slipped me their business card, they told me to send the man in my life to their next HAM meeting. “But he’s kosher,” I protested, before reading the full acronym, “Husbands Amidst Menopause!”

A low sex drive is often made light of, but for many peri/post menopausal women, loss of libido is a highly disturbing issue. Wasn’t it just yesterday we shirked the dishes and dusting to get busy between the sheets? Nowadays laundering those same sheets is more Afternoon Delight than any Quicky I know – – unless of course, it’s a “Sticky Quicky” – – meaning someone is overnighting me dark chocolate from Belgium!

But we are not alone. Many women mistakenly believe that losing desire or passion is something that comes with the territory of aging and they accept this situation as the new status quo. Or worse, suspect something is wrong with their relationship because they’re changing the oil in their car more frequently than they change into negligees. Often many unnecessary months are spent in therapy trying to find a psychological cause, (sadly sometimes a divorce is even initiated) when emotions might not have much to do with it.

Then there’s always the old “fake it till you make it,” advice, which essentially goes like this – – “Just start having sex, even though you don’t feel like it. Soon the more you have it, the more you’ll want it.” Really?? Oh, that’s right! Because the other night, I forced myself to eat brussel sprouts and now I crave them. And six months ago, I had a root canal and today I go to a twelve-step program for people addicted to dentistry. C’mom! We deserve better information than this, because (as L’Oreal tells us) we are worth it! It makes sense to me to first explore the physical causes of a change in sexual desire by seeking a medical professional who has expertise in balancing hormones.

This explains why last night, even though my name is not Dorothy, I added a new, creative twist to the old, “Not tonight Honey, I have a headache,” routine. Washcloth draped over forehead, I moaned convincingly, “But it wasn’t a dream, it was a real place, and some of it wasn’t very nice, but most of it was beautiful! And you were there, and you, and you!” I said pointing to my significant other and our two night table lamps. “And I learned that if I ever go looking for my heart’s sexual desire again, I won’t look any further than my own backyard, because I’ve always had the power to get it back with just three clicks of…” dramatic pause, “my Testosterone crème dispenser!” He looked at me incredulously, with widening eyes, and I decided as long as I was on a roll (not just a roll in the hay!) why not throw in a hint for our next vacation?! “There’s no place like Rome, there’s no place like Rome,” I repeated hypnotically. But that’s another blog.

Stop The Ride, I Wanna Get Off!

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“My mother took me to playgrounds and put me on mood swings!”

– Jay London

Last year I gave myself a headache crunching on Grape-Nuts (that is one loud cereal!) while my teenage son debated whether to go to the San Diego County Fair or hang out with me. When I looked baffled, he explained, “Mom, you have more ups and downs than the “Raging Thunder – SkyScreamer – Twister – Sling Shot – Crazy Mouse – Dark Night rollercoaster all rolled into one!” He meant “Dark Knight,” but since I was having one of my dimmer evenings, I changed the spelling.

Mood swings are the hallmark of menopause. Or are they? Approximately 1 in 4 women between the ages of 40 and 59 take antidepressants. Can this many of us be clinically depressed? Or are we victims zooming down the “Highway of Hormonal Hell?” Hey, now that’s a nifty name for a ride – (Note to Self: Call “Menopausey Land” and discuss sharing royalties!)

When your nickname becomes Sybil or Dr. Jekyll, you might rethink the idea that irritability, anxiety, depression, rage, and brain fog are the “prizes” that automatically come in this particular cereal box we know as “Life.” I’m living proof that with the right doctor, a woman can be stabilized faster than the economy; and certainly all those around her will be better off. It was my same thrill-ride lover son who first printed on a tee-shirt, “When mama’s not happy, ain’t nobody happy!” His grammar needed work, but he was on to something.

Now realize things might need reprioritizing, which brings up self-care. Mind you, my kids roll their eyes on airplanes when flight attendants give that “Parents, put your own oxygen mask on first” speech. That’s because I use that analogy to justify my outlandishly selfish behavior – – like actually taking a shower before making them homemade waffles. Imagine that! Or meditating instead of taking someone to Verizon for the latest iPhone. Or (gasp!) indulging in a girl’s night out at “Wine, Women, & Hormones,” where the underlying issues that have been wreaking havoc in my body and mind in the first place are finally addressed. This new mind shift takes some juggling, but we’re definitely worth it, ladies!

Fast-forward to yesterday while I munched on Grape-Nuts, (switched to flakes – – much quieter!) as my son actually invited me to this year’s opening day at the fair. I promised he wouldn’t be subjected to the gemology exhibit, and instead I’d willingly go to the Fun Zone. “Mom,” he said, hugging me, (no easy feat for a 17 year old!) “Nowadays … you ARE the Fun Zone!” Wow, just wow. Note: I still experienced mood swings (most notably fear, vomiting, and anger) after being dragged on Pharaoh’s Fury and G-Force, but that had nothing to do with my progesterone levels!

Is Your Memory Lane Paved With Potholes?

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“Not only is my short term memory bad, but so IS my short term memory.” – Anonymous (Note: Perhaps author forgot her own name?)

Are you losing it? In order to decide, first you must remember what “It” refers to. Then you must retain your answer without forgetting the original question. I guess it’s obvious by now that “it” means your memory! If you aren’t sure, take the following quiz … But file away the number 18 for a special bonus section at the end.

1. Do you walk into rooms needing someone holding flashcards with prompts of why you came? i.e. “Purse?” or “To make dinner?” or “To have sex?” or “To yell at my kids?”

2. Ever save on monthly entertainment with just one book, one DVD movie and one magazine? Isn’t it wonderful to watch Titanic 18 times, constantly shocked when she lets go of his hand on that wooden board in the icy water!? (PS. He didn’t need to drown – – They both COULD’VE balanced.)

3. When you go to a deli with a friend or spouse, do you ask them, “Is it the pastrami or the corned beef I like here?”

4. Is this how you tell jokes at a party? “A Priest and a bar walk into a Rabbi. Oops, that’s the punch line, only it’s wrong. Pretend you didn’t hear that. And scratch the bar – – they’re playing 18 hole golf. And then uh…what’s another word for a small horse? Oh, right! So then a pony comes over. Or was it a parrot? Alright Honey, you tell it! Never mind, I’ll send you guys the joke later when I refresh my memory on who emailed it to me!”

5. When you hear Streisand belting out, “The Way We Were,” are you grateful for the following famous lyrics? “Memories may be beautiful and yet….What’s too painful to remember, we simply choose to forget.” Yeah, that’s the ticket! We voluntarily forget where we park our car because it hurts too much to recall. Better to get stared at while the security guy drives us 18 miles around the Nordstrom’s lot in his jerky little golf cart.

6. Do you claim your short term memory is worse than your long term memory? Which really means, you can’t recount what you had for dinner OR for breakfast?

7. Do you ever re-gift a present to a friend, then worry she might be who gave you, “The All New Clapper, Chia Pet Snuggie” in the first place? (Relax… she can’t remember either.)

If you answered ‘Yes” to several questions, rest assured you are exactly normal. But if you answered “Yes” to all, rest assured you are exactly like me. But we can still call ourselves normal, if we just conveniently forget what the definition is! So always remember you are NOT alone and there’s strength in numbers . . . which reminds me – – Hmm, next week’s topic might need to be on the significance of the number uh, um, was it 28? Because for the life of me now, I cannot recollect why I asked you to remember it.

See? We can all forget about your test results – – truly I am the one officially losing it!

Now Playing! (while you’re praying….for sleep!)

photo-122Disney producers know women are eternally exhausted. Why else would Sleeping Beauty and Snow White suddenly nod off, “only to be awakened by Love’s First Kiss?” I suppose, “only to be startled by husband’s irritating snores,” just wouldn’t sell as many tickets! With that in mind, here are some other “Menopausal Movies” that might have passed you by. Rewatch them on Netflix …if you can stay awake long enough!

The Wizard of MenopOZ – – Hiding behind a curtain (typically male) a great and powerful Man claims to have discovered the cure for All Female Fatigue…. MORE SEX. Ha! DVD includes never seen before footage where he gets the “Courage” to admit he doesn’t know everything, a “Heart” to hand Dorothy his VISA to shop Nordies for more ruby slippers, and the “Brains” to stay clear of Wicked Witches who haven’t slept in weeks!

Forest Slump — A woman named Forest (don’t ask!) slumps over with exhaustion while working, shopping, cleaning, driving, cooking, and exercising. But she’s totally alert when her head hits the pillow at night. Audiences will cheer when a Good Samaritan informs the tired waif that, “Life is like a box of chocolates” and she finally perks up for good! “Run Forest, Run….to See’s Candy!”

Gone With the Wind – – The nights are so hot on this plantation that “Scarlett O’Sweara” can’t get comfortable. Even her Boy Toy/Servant who fans her bare (now 28 inch instead of 18) menopausal waist, can’t create the breeze she craves to fall asleep – – plus the noisy way he parts his hair is so infuriating. What’s a Southern Belle to do when she has to be up by 7 am to eat grits? Rated PG which stands for “Pillow Gripping.”

Malice in Wonderland – – Vindictive, insomniac wife plots revenge as her spouse snores blissfully unaware beside her.

The Postman Always Brings Ice – – Getting ready to celebrate the big 5-0, a woman is grateful to her mail carrier for saving the day because- – a) She was too exhausted to get ice for her own big birthday bash b) She actually forgot she was throwing her own big birthday bash and c) To cool her wrists and neck when her own big birthday bash “hot flash” hit. Warning: Ending will “melt” your heart AND your libido.

Sophie’s Choice – – Predictably dark comedy about a woman who must choose between taking a nap or having sex. Seriously?

9 ½ weeks – – Depressing documentary about the length of time 8 women in a sleep study have insomnia until one of them blindfolds another and feeds her carbs. Now not only is she awake, has gluten intolerance but a nasty Atkin’s fan club is after her.

It Happened One Night – – See this one after you see Miracle on 34th Street. Both have the same bizarre plot twist….SHE FINALLY SLEPT!

SchindHER’s List – – Woman visits her doctor and walks away with everything from Xanax and Ambien to Tylenol PM and Melatonin scrawled in wretched physician handwriting on a prescription pad. Yawn, we’ve seen this all before….but still it fails to put us to sleep.

Alice Doesn’t Live Here Anymore- – Silly fable about a fatigued and overworked woman, living with three jobless, OCD adult children who move back to the nest. Plus no air-conditioning or room darkening shades for naps. When her 26 year-old daughter mutters, “I think you missed a spot,” after Alice moves the girl’s bare feet to dust the coffee table, audiences will wonder, “What in the hell took her so long to leave?”

Other notable films too numerous to review but worth a look are… “Kiss of the Tired-er Woman,” “Look Who’s Balking!” “Casablanket,” “Les Menopausals,” “Withering Nights,” “Maternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind,” “Numb and Number,” “Streetcar Named Expire,” “Total UnRecall,” and “Cloudy With a Chance of Menopause!

Too Tired To Exercise Anything But Caution?

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“My grandmother started walking five miles a day when she was sixty. She’s ninety-seven now, and we don’t know where the heck she is.” – Ellen DeGeneres

Are you too tired to remember the three F’s? “Fat, Frumpy and Fatigued!” And while your sensitive mate should deny you being fat and frumpy, there’s no arguing when you’re totally fatigued, lifting your head off the pillow seems impossible; let alone lifting weights.

The only thing we desire when we’re this drained is catching some Z’s. Instead, experts say we’d benefit from using that Stairclimber which serves as a wine-rack in our living room. (I’m into Art Deco!) “Exercising will give you energy!” they proclaim. Now I only received a “B” in Logic 101, but don’t you first need to HAVE energy to exercise?

These experts claim exercise brings a flood of Indoor Fins. Because the last time you snorkeled in your den was…? Oh…Endorphins! Those little devils will help with fatigue, especially if you have (a medical catch phrase getting more common for women these days) “Adrenal Fatigue.” Perfect solution: I’ll put one of my adrenal glands on an Exercycle, while the other swims laps. Meanwhile…. I sleep!

Quite honestly, we’re not just too tired to exercise; we’re too confused. Should we do Aerobic? (Definition: Official language of Arab countries) or Cardio? (Definition: To deal a feisty hand of Crazy 8’s!) Turns out they mean the same thing, and a half hour each day will give us weary women a wonderful jump-start to our morning. A thirty-minute root canal would wake us up too, but rarely do I hear an “expert” recommend that.

Nevertheless, I went for a work-out for the first time yesterday. I’ve never done more huffing, puffing, heaving, tugging, and pushing before – – But it was worth it – – I succeeded in getting my gym shorts on just fine!

At the door, I was greeted by Gwyneth Paltrow’s twin sister chirping, “Hya, I’m Kimba! Welcomma to our Gymba. Wanna try Zumba?”

Can I just say – – “Rule of thumba: When you go outa on a limba, and shake your bumma to La Bamba, you’re gonna feel super dumba!”

After being laughed out of the crazy Latin-inspired dance class, I wandered exhaustedly into the equipment room where a handsome young fitness instructor named (according to large tag across shirt) Nike, offered to show me where I could pump. Having weaned my son from breastfeeding years ago, I demurely declined. He gestured at the weights while grunting, “Iron!” I casually explained that I use the drycleaners down the street. He and his friend Reebok, continued staring oddly as I glanced behind them, swooning over the only comfy, padded, flat surface in the room – – a Slantboard! Yawning, I pulled on my jammies, blew everyone a goodnight kiss, and curled up for my well-deserved nap!

Good Night, Sleep Tight….Yeah, Right!

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“People ask if I slept well? I always answer, No, I made a few mistakes.” ― Steven Wright, Comic

Are you so exhausted in the morning that you sometimes mistake a certain snoring male body part next to you for the snooze button? (And that’s all the action he gets for the week?) Ever pour orange juice in the cereal bowl instead of milk? Plan a “Girl’s Night In,” — a wild foodfest slumber party, only to find you’re the only one slumbering? I’ve never exactly been a morning person either, but when I hit my mid-forties, nobody dared phone before noon. I even joined the “National Unable To Sleep” club, but had to quit those “N.U.T.S” meetings when they foolishly rescheduled them for 10 am.

Fortunately during a beach walk last month, my best (and exasperatingly perky) friend Tiffany (the name has been changed to protect “the perfect” from the rest of our wrath) pulled out a new quiz from a popular women’s website. “Are you tired of being tired? Do you feel irritable? Tense? Depressed? Forgetful?” She told me to circle my answers. “Who do you think submitted those darn questions?!” I snapped, vaguely remembering tapping on my laptop during the Insomniac Hour. “Well, no wonder it has so many typos!” Tiff retorted, tossing her blonde (grayless!) tresses as she gracefully broke into an effortless sprint, kicking up wet sand that stuck to my face, highlighting the crevices of my under-eye bags and wrinkles. When I have more energy, remind me to make a new best friend. And her real name is actually Anita-Leigh, so there! (Anger Management blog coming soon!)

But on that fateful day, gorgeous “Tiffany” had an epiphany! She heard about a fun, free event called “Wine, Women, and Hormones” where doctors specializing in females who think they are losing their minds (but might actually only be losing their estrogen) give informative, entertaining talks while ladies listen, learn, laugh, and stuff themselves with dry-roasted almonds. Okay, okay, so I was too tired to cook dinner that night. And even though I secretly hoped they would start me on an IV of Red Bull; the wine was wonderful, the feminine energy rejuvenating, and I even found a new sympathetic doctor who understands that whenever someone asks, “What time is it?” the answer is always, “bedtime!”

Now I just have to list my symptoms so I won’t forget them at my next appointment. Then I have to put a sticky on my front door to remind me to bring that list. Then I need a post-it on my steering wheel detailing the location of the sticky. Note to self: Don’t forget to write a blog about memory loss.

Stay tuned because in the coming weeks, I will keep you abreast (word chosen intentionally due to new, unwanted and LARGER bra size) of my adventures into Hormone Harmony and how it impacts my life and those brave enough to stay in it!

‘TIS THE SEASON (Without rhyme or reason!)

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T’was the night before menopause, when all through my bod,
Not a creature ached, tingled or burned more than me, OMG!

The Size 6’s were hung in the closet with care,
In hopes that Jenny Craig would soon take me there.

My husband was nestled all snug in his bed,
While visions of erotic positions danced in his head.

When out on the lawn, there arose such a clatter
Like when I shoved a Hooter’s waitress, carrying a platter.

Away to the window I flew, triggering a hot flash,
Followed by clammy skin, irregular heartbeat, and allergic rash.
(Who could think about opening shutters and pulling up the sash?)

Or the moon on the breast of the new fallen snow,
Not to mention my own breasts had sunk to a new low.

When what to my fatigued eyes, who should appear?
But a rich, black, chatty woman and a man wanting to do my pap smear.

This wasn’t the plastic surgeon I ordered or the Avon Lady chick!
I looked closer, recognizing Dr. Oz and Oprah, his sidekick.

Then more rapid than eagles, my troubles came with sharp aim
And Dr Oz. and Oprah whooped and shouted, calling them by name.

“Now Itchy, Now Bitchy, Now Sweaty And Sleepy,
Now Bloaty, Now Psycho, Forgetful and Weepy.
Onward Insomnia, Moody, and Fibroids So Creepy!

To the Top of the medicine cabinet with your dreadful symptom roll-call
Dash away Metamucil, Calgon, Midol, Prozac and Geratol!

Then up to the Ceiling Fan this pair of Celebrity teachers flew
Cameras rolling, talk shows and infomercials filming on cue.

Just then in a Twinkling, what did I hear on the roof?
A Sitcom Star more famous than will ever be this stupid spoof!

As I drew in my muffin top, and was turning around,
Down the chimney Ms. Suzanne Somers came with a bound.

She was dress’d all in (faux) fur from her head to her (chiseled) thigh,
And she said, “Tis not the Thigh Master that keeps me so spry!”

Bundles of hormones were flung over her (well-toned) back,
With more Bioidenticals stuffed in her (shapely) fanny pack.

Her eyes, how they sparkled, her dimples how merry,
Her cheeks were like roses, her lips like a cherry.
“Listen,” I accused, “Do you still eat Gluten and dairy??”

“And how come you’re here? Three’s Company went off the air?
If I sound like a Grinch — it’s these wrinkles despite good skin care!”

And what did you do with that fat guy and his white beard and round belly?
That shook when he laughed, like a bowl full of jelly.
(which made me not feel so bad when I indulged at the Deli.)

Say, you don’t have a stump of pipe in your teeth,
With smoke that encircles your head like a wreath.”
And I betcha some Clairol, you wear Spanx underneath!”

I demand someone plump or ugly like Elf on the Shelf,
Someone who makes me feel better, when I compare myself.

With a wink of her eye, and a twist of her shiny blonde head,
Suzanne said, “No more Somercizing, you’ve nothing to dread!”

She spoke not another word and went straight to her work
Filled a few lacy stockings (with garters) flashing a sexy smirk,

And laid a manicured fingernail aside her cute button nose,
Her mother never warned about smirking and her face just froze?

I sprung to my feet as Dr. Oz and Oprah gave a wolf whistle,
Finally some hope that went beyond Black Cohosh and Milk Thistle!

Who knew that a night of magic with Suzanne, Oprah and Dr. Oz
Would have me feeling much better about entering menopause?

And away they all flew, but I heard them exclaim
“If you listen to us, you’ll be one awesome, hot dame!”

That was the last I saw of them as they drove outa sight,
Happy Menopause to all and to all a stress-free night!