My Mom has been telling me for years: “Enjoy it while you got it Kid!”
Since her recent trek through menopause and the common frustrations associated with aging, I have unavoidably glimpsed the “exciting” developments a woman must endure.
Hot flashes, the loss of your waistline and sex drive, simply because your vagina decided it has had enough and begins to atrophy. Body parts are no longer where they are supposed to be, and as the days go by, the woman staring back in the bathroom mirror suddenly resembles a Picasso.
You are also the proud new owner of a permanent floatation device that is attached to your waistline and will never be removed no matter how much you exercise, eat right, or bitch about it. The optimism in this is that since your brain has waned in the last fifty some years, and you have forgotten how to swim, or you were to fall overboard on one of those senior cruises, you would just float to safety.
Yet, your husband, if he is still around and hasn’t traded you in for a newer model, looks better than the day you married and is randier than most eighteen year olds. God forbid his friend the Doctor gives him a prescription for Viagra!
By now, you are probably asking yourself, “Why is a young woman concerned with a matter that won’t affect her for years to come?”
Well, for one, I am a woman, and this is what I have to look forward to. You progress, not regress, and in a lot of ways I am thankful for that. For a slew of other reasons, I am a nervous wreck.
Women in society shoulder a lot of responsibility and expectations. Of course we are “supposed” to remain beautiful, young, and firm forever. Our worth is somehow judged by this. Girls out of the school room have already had plastic surgeries; we are doing some maintenance work in our thirties; becoming “Botox Beauties” in our forties; starting over from scratch in our fifties! God knows what’s left after that. Between what our bodies do naturally as it “matures” or falls apart, or how society views us and our own insecurities, it is no wonder so many of us have a difficult time with the aging process.
My other concern is that I just turned thirty and I suddenly realize everything has changed overnight. Society in general seems to be perversely fascinated with my single status, a topic not just discussed at family functions, but with complete strangers like the sweet senior citizen behind the register at the local market.
After scanning my “bachelorette” groceries and brown-bagging my bottle of Pinot Noir, she sadly shook her head and frowning gave a tsk, tsk.
“You’re not getting any younger, Cookie. You should be sharing that wine with a nice young man.” Horrified, I felt like asking the well-meaning old bat to wait while I grab a razor to go with my Pinot.
Then, there is the shelf-life of my eggs. No one has ever informed me that as I age, my eggs do too. This seems to be another important thirty-something issue.
Click Here For “Part 2” of the story!
About Lee Volpe:
I was a slow reader, diagnosed with a learning disability, & by the end of third grade it was suggested I be held back. As part of the remedial tutoring I opted for, I was given the task to write a story. Little did I know that assignment would be the genesis of me, the first taste, the moment that changed everything. Daisy the Cow was the result of my 8 year old imagination. A cow that was beloved by all the neighborhood children until someone gets a puppy & Daisy loses the spotlight. Daisy begins howling at the moon, fetching, lifting her leg, & causing all kinds of trouble – for a cow. With the help of her friends, Daisy realizes that she is special, loved, & perfect just the way she is.
At the time, I was approached & offered publication for Daisy the Cow. After a year, I completed tutoring & was reading almost two grade levels higher. I resolved my fear & dislike of reading. And in finding the words, I found my voice.”