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If
you are menapausal, pre- menopausal, post-menopausal
or know a woman who
is........................
I
hope you can laugh at the ironic humor in this short-short autobiographical
memoir about my change in life.
Consider
Hormones
By
Candy Porett
A few months ago, this real cute skinny
girl, who's barely old enough to legally drink in a bar, tells me her
mother-in-law-to-be is getting strange. She wakes up at three AM and starts
ironing.
I say "Well I wake up at four or five, but I
start writing."
"Well, I think she does it cause her
hormones are changing. She's getting older you know."
And I think well hell, of course she's
getting older. Who isn't? That's what time is all about; age. So then I feel
like maybe she's implying I am as old as her mother-in-law-to-be and waking up
for the same reason. Old hormones. So I tell her I never iron anything.
But she says "But you guys are about the
same age, aren't you?"
And I say I think her mother-in-law-to-be is
a little bit older. Then she has the nerve to tell me her own mother hasn't
started ironing at three o'clock in the morning yet and laughs. Now I have seen
her mother and she may be younger, and she may not iron, but I think I'm
skinnier than she is. And maybe she dyes her hair as often as I do too. But
then I think maybe she really doesn't dye her hair, so I don't say it.
Well get this. One day, the girl's
boyfriend, the son of 'the-one-that-irons-at three AM', comes over when I'm
taking a nap. I walk out of the bedroom and here he sits at my kitchen counter,
mooching a cigarette. He asks me if he woke me up.
Now I've known this guy since he was thirteen years old. Love him like my own.
I tell him "No, but the dog's barking did when you came in. It's okay." I tell
him. "I just needed a nap 'cause I've been up since four this morning."
Next he starts to tell me about how his
mother gets up at three in the morning to iron. Before he finishes his sentence
I stop him. I tell him that I don't iron. I tell him his girlfriend already
told me about his mother's ironing problem. And then I yell that my iron
doesn't even work. And that there's nothing wrong with my hormones either. I've
known this kid a long time and he understands when I get a little touchy. So he
changes the subject. Then he suddenly says he's got to go.
When I hear the buzzer go off, I pull out
the curtains out of the dryer. They are really wrinkled and ironically I think
"These need to be ironed before I put them back up."
"Ironing?" I'm un-nerved. I know one thing
for
sure. I'll be damned if I'll iron them at 3 AM.
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