Monday: I went to the library to renew my card and found myself asking the young woman with streaks of neon in her hair where I might find product. She looked up: “Um, ok, go for it, I guess” and grudgingly told me where to go. I was so crushed I didn’t even have the heart to stay and find a book.
Instead, I ‘broke up’ with a friend. I had been brewing and stewing about this: she’s perimenopausal, too, and our neuroses are no longer compatible. I deliberated about how to do it and decided on an, ‘it’s not you it’s me’ approach. What did she do but agree with me. Wait? What! I went out and bought bright pink hair stuff.
Tuesday: A hair cut. I’ve been going to Chris forever. He’s always entertaining – almost always doing all the talking – with almost no prompting. I know how he feels about government intervention, bicycle helmets, cigarette smoking, weight loss, male female differences. Knowing how adamant he is about his topics, I have made it a point to stay – one might say stay ‘religiously’ – away from that touchy topic: religion. Chalk it up or down to being perimmenopausal, but I told him I’m an atheist. My hair stylist, I learned, as he hovered his scissors, is not. I can only say how grateful I am that the ensuing heated philosophical non-meeting of the minds did not show itself in the hair-cut.
Wednesday: I was convinced that my younger daughter, 23-years old, just had bad gas after a night of frivolity and fatty foods. She whined and writhed and followed all my get rid-of-gas directions. 24 hours of this and one visit to a drop in clinic, she was in Emerg, waiting to have an appendectomy and doing her best to comfort her guilt-ridden mother. When she went into the OR at 3am, I followed the night cleaner to an waiting room, devoid of anything but a phone. I cursed as I fanned myself (remember, I’m perimenopausal). Not even an outdated magazine to be found. The hours passed and then the phone rang. I looked around. I was still the only one in the room. It rang and rang and I thought: “Why isn’t someone coming to pick it up.” Eventually, a cleaner poked his head round the corner: “That’s probably for you” It was. My daughter was out of the OR and wanted to know where was her mother?
Thursday: i was really looking forward to the therapeutic massage. It had been a long couloir of days and nights attending to my daughter, and I was feeling it. “Sit up straight” said she, rather sternly then barked: “Put your shoulders in your back pocket”
My grimace earned me a reprimand, “You are too vigorous! At this stage of your life you have to be more aware. You can’t just do things so vigorously”. [Sob]. I thought vigor was a good thing.
Friday: I lied. It was at the supermarket. The nice young lady was trying to convince me I needed another credit card. Weaseling my way out, I noticed her eye make-up. Wrong color, thot I, but what I said was, “I like your eye makeup”. She brightened right up. I was then stuck listening to her explain how to do her make-up just so, and I simply couldn’t bring myself to say, “I have to pee” or even “Please! Stop! Can’t you see I’m perimenopausal?” Better yet, couldn’t I just have kept my mouth shut.
Saturday: I told the truth. A colleague asked if I could talk to her son about my career in broadcast. Son had said those words that cause my shoulders to droop along with my spirits: His dream was to go into television. I have done this conversation many a time and, until my current phase of life, I was able to couch my words, to be sensitive, to encourage whilst painting a picture that did not include glamour, perks and travel. To my horror, I heard myself blurting “Don’t do it. Really. Don’t”. This was not what son wanted to hear. Parents thanked me, but told me their son really hates me. One day, maybe son will thank me, too. Or, he’ll make it in television and his parents will hate me.
Sunday: I finally realized what I needed to bring me peace: a trip to the library, getting books to read. ebooks have their place in my life, but it was a real book I needed. I saw the girl with the neon hair, although today, it was demure henna. She almost didn’t notice, but then it caught her eye: the pinkness in my hair. I told her how that, first go-round, when I tested on a section on top of my head, husband said, “You have bubblegum stuck in your hair.” I then followed eldest daughter’s instruction, for a more subtly stylish placement. Library young lady said: Ah-mazing. It ‘s great that your daughter likes a hip looking mom.
I am more than my peri menopause! I am a Hip Looking Mom
