Chapter One Hundred-Thirteen: A Lunatic and his fringe…

Shaving my legs lately has been like an Indiana Jones excursion. I truly need a machete to get through the untamed wilderness. I picture myself with Indiana’s infamous hat on and rope lasso. I thought as we aged the hair process would diminish. Ha! I was never hairy, now I look like a muppet. I am EXHAUSTED after hacking through the hair jungle. If I left my leg hair untouched any longer, I could pose as Sasquatch and charge tickets for a photo op. With all the hair gone,  I have to admit, my legs look thinner! I feel ten pounds lighter! 

I decide to celebrate my newfound weight loss by purchasing a bottle of Rosé ! I don my Covid mask and basically skip over to the liquor store. I twirl and admire my thinner, hairless legs! I smile behind my mask ignoring my sweat and Darth Vader like breathing.  I choose my Rosé like I am a Sommelier on a mission. Heading to the checkout I lock eyes with Skippy the probably underaged teen manning the register. I laugh at the irony of this and through mask ask if he needs to see my ID since I have a face mask on and it’s hard to tell how old I am( my thinner, hairless legs are like my invisible super hero cape!) He snorts and then exaggeratively chuckles and says: ” No need! I can see from the crows feet around your eyes you’re about my Gran’s age.” WTF?!!! I glare at Skippy with laser like crows nest weapons. Wishing that I could truly shoot lasers out at him! I would laser that existing smirk behind his mask right off of his stupid face!

Exiting the shop a man says “Nice mask MISS!” he called me MISS! “Ha take that Skippy you snarky, ill mannered teen!” 

With my new found confidence I leap home! This is how Mary Tyler Moore must have felt during her legendary tossing of the hat scene! I have no hat to toss, so I rip off my mask tossing it high in the air, twirling on my hairless, youthful pins! My Mary Tyler Moore moment is ruined when a passerby shouts out:” Ma’am put your mask back on!” Moment ruined I look at my heckler. His mask covers the majority of his face. He has a Friar Tuck hair- do going on. He is a lunatic with fringe.  He has ruined my youthful, hairless moment! I will bet money that Skippy in the liquor store is his spawn! No one called MTM Ma’am and told  her to put her hat back on.

Yup, I am old, I am Ma’am…

Chapter One Hundred-Twelve: Ma’am and the Monikers….

Confused Husband tries to Mansplain a sports event to me. This is unrequested by moi. I could care less about some neanderthal’s chasing after a ball as they knock the crap out of each other. Confused Husband fancies himself as a witty raconteur. This is up for debate. He is also really bad at remembering people’s names. Hence he has given my friends monikers. We have “Sophie’s Choice” whose name is Sue and she can’t make a choice to save her life. At least he got the S part right! It can take what seems like years for her to make any kind of decision. It is like living through the real life version of War and Peace with the length of time that passes waiting for her to decide on something. When we are in restaurants and she has to order it becomes the MOST annoying thing! Confused Husband SWEARS he watched the entire Scarface movie on his phone while we were waiting for her to decide what kind of dressing she wanted on her salad. Another example, my friend well let’s call her “H” is referred to as “The Holland Tunnel”. She is in her late fifties single and has lots of visitors passing through her tunnel. He dubbed her this moniker years ago, as she likes to talk about her”visitors”. Then there is the extremely wealthy friend. She complains about ridiculous things like her cleaner ( full time) forgot to iron her sheets. He has christened her “Thinks she’s Oprah”. She sends me pictures of her exotic trips and says things like “Wish you were here!” I couldn’t even afford the suitcases she travels with let alone the airline ticket! 

Next we have the friend designated “The Librarian”. She always has her nose in a book and is constantly suggesting chic rom com books for Confused Husband to read. For example, he will come into the room asking “Where are my glasses?” She will say: “This sounds like the book I am reading! Desperate Passions! George is legally blind and loses his glasses on a double decker bus in London. Sara the American who is a famous ophthalmologist finds them!” She becomes extremely animated while narrating this RIDICULOUS scenario.  I watch as Confused Husbands eyes glaze over and he goes into”The Zone”. I know this look oh too well, as it crosses his face frequently whilst I am trying to have a conversation with him.

Another friend whom he knighted the “Winds of War” because of the endless hot air she spews, and her always wanting to cause conflict and war.She is constantly trying to debate. His go to example is one day he came into the kitchen and I asked him if he wanted a coffee? He asked for tea. She went on a confrontational rant about how coffee was offered but he asked for tea which wasn’t on the table, she then challenged him to a cantankerous  conversation about his selfish need for tea when he was offered coffee and should be grateful for the offer in the first place. He muttered on his way out that this is why she was divorced and her ex absconded to Scandinavia and deleted all of his social media to escape from her.

Then there’s the “Phone-A-Holic.” She calls and rambles on and on and I could( and have) literally put the phone down and come back and she is still yammering away much ado about nothing. He laments on how these woman are so tiresome like he has to hang out with them. My friends that he does like are usually the ones that he actually makes an effort engaging with. He is also annoyed like it’s my fault that the majority of my friends do not have husband’s!He blames me that they are divorced or never married! I could say the same for the majority of his motley crew as they are perpetual bachelor’s over fifty. Still wearing ill fitting sports shirts and living like they are straight out of college in their poster ridden Ikea apartments. I love my single friends way too much to set them up with his friends. I am like George Costanza never wanting my two world’s to meet. It would be a disaster! Our conversations go something like this:

Confused Husband:” Did I tell you that I saw “The Winds Of War” at the grocery store and she was arguing with the manager about The Pillsbury Doughboy having white privilege? Then at Starbucks I had to hide because “The Librarian” was in there holding her mock book club to her captured audience aka the other customers.” “Thinks she’s Oprah” added me to her thread from her safari, all day wild animals were showing up on my phone it is ANNOYING as hell!”

Me:” Well, please tell your friends I am NOT having another laundry tutorial! They are GROWN men and they still can’t figure out a washing machine! Also, “Mr. Casanova” keeps liking “The Holland Tunnels” Instagram stories and you need to inform him that he has a snowball chance in hell of zipping through that tunnel!”

Yes, these are our friends….

Chapter One Hundred-Eleven: No one puts a hot sweaty Ma’am in the corner…

I am always hot. I don’t mean hot like sexy, I mean hot like friggen boiling! This is due to menopause. I sweat like a nun in a cucumber patch. I have massive hot flashes that make me look like the Heat Miser from that claymation Christmas show. All red and sweaty and just a hot mess!  Now I find out that some menopausal women are being turned away from stores because if their temperature is taken during a hot flash then the thermometer registers as having a fever FUCK! I can’t win! It’s already stressful enough going into a store because of Covid, now to perhaps being perceived by Skippy the store temperature taker as having a fever and be seen by others as Typhoid Mary is RIDICULOUS!

We need to have medical ID bracelets that say PATIENT HAS MENOPAUSE! Proceed with caution! I also would like to be able to apply for a Handicapped parking pass. It is an ailment and should be recognized as such.  I am also tired of having my face melt off in my mask like a Salvador Dali painting. Why bother putting makeup on? Why can’t they make makeup for menopausal women?

I watch movies and fantasize that’s me. I am not sweaty and discombobulated, I am lithe and carefree. I can wear a handkerchief of a dress and not have it look like a saturated, sweaty gauze wrap, basically like a menopausal mummy. I am not sweating, I am glistening! I want to be the one Patrick Swayze marches up to and rescues from the corner!  But alas, that is not my forte. I am delegated to reside in a nook,  like a sweaty potato left overcooked in the corner of the oven, while all of the other non-mushy, non-sweaty vegetables are chosen.

I am wallowing in my sweaty misery on the couch. Confused Husband plops down next to me and asks me to scootch into the couch corner…