So today dear Peepos and Peepettes, I thought I delve into some of the things people fail to mention about menopause… or at least the things I was unaware of when I toed the edge right before taking the plunge.

(Peepos, don’t you dare run and hide, you need to know this shit too. These pearls might not only save your nuts, but used wisely,  save your ass.)

Now that I have your attention…

Although hot-flashes, night sweats, insomnia and osteoporosis are commonly discussed in pharmaceutical ads and comedy routines, there’s a myriad of shameful secrets still in the closet.  Well no more! ‘Cause today, I’m dragging those sons-of-bitches kicking and screaming into the light of day.

Did you know that male pattern baldness is not just for Peepos? Nope, and it’s not limited to the hair on your head. That’s right Peepettes, kiss that luscious 1970’s bush goodbye. And if you’re happily thinking that nature’s finally taken care of your downstairs grooming, well think again. That hair didn’t just up and disappear, it migrated. Your face isn’t the only place that’s grown as patchy as an adolescent boy’s chin (Do you think a post-menopausal bush could be the inspiration behind Shaggy’s chin? Seriously…)
And the migration doesn’t stop there. You might as well put your bikini waxer on speed-dial because nothing says sex goddess like thighs sporting a five o’clock shadow and sprouting ass hair like a silver-back.

And then there’s the brain fog: Yup, it’s a real thing, you’re not going crazy (well actually you are. And for all you ADHD naysayers out there, welcome to the club. )Be thankful that for most of you, it’s only temporary… I hear it gets better after a couple years.

Menopause is like puberty on steroides… as such, roid-rage is to be expected and feared. So Peepos, for the love of all things holy—namely your nuts—keep a ready supply of chocolate. Studies have also shown foot rubs can sometimes soothe the savage beast… Really, I wouldn’t just make shit up… oh wait… purveyor of fiction,  maybe I would…

But are you willing to take that risk?

 

 

Just like with puberty, strange things happen to our boobs.

They start growing again…

and changing shape…

Again…

And forget finding a decent fitting bra; they’re all designed for perky 22 year old titties.

I just might cut the next fitter that tries to stuff me into the wrong size bra and claim it’s perfect.

Because the ill-fitting cups, stabbing underwires and side boobage (if the good lord wanted underarm tits, he wouldn’t have put all that hair there) say otherwise.

Now, since I’m in a sharing mood, let’s talk about vaginas. I’ll bet your man didn’t swallow his pride and a little blue pill to help ease your hormonal peri-menopausal sex rages, did he? Fuck no!

Only after your vaginal walls become as fragile as tissue paper and you have your own personal Saharan between your thighs does he surprise you over a romantic dinner with gift-wrapped boner pills instead of the earrings you were hoping for.

Okay Peepos, listen up (there’s a select few, and you know who you are…) that need to get your heads out of your fucking asses. The skin on our arms isn’t the only thing that turns into crepe-paper, so do our vaginal walls. After which, your cock goes from being our favorite toy (okay second favorite, at least until the batteries die,) to an instrument of torture…

As previously mentioned, our skin changes; it thins, taking on a creepily (to me anyway) satiny texture. And that “Hot Rockin’ Granny” tattoo might not heal so well on your delicate skin.

Sun tans aren’t happening either (at least for this white chick.) Now I burn after about two minutes in the sun… I live in San Diego. We’re the fucking tanning world capitol. Tanning’s considered a competitive sport here.

Then there’s the random, mysterious dark, and strangely enough, white (and by white, I mean no pigment whatsoever) splotches appearing out of nowhere.

Best buck up buttercup ’cause there’s more bad news from south of the boarder. UTIs and urinary incontinence are going to be your new normal. That’s right, at the first sign of abdominal strain, you just might piss yourself.

So don’t laugh, don’t sneeze…

and for goodness sakes, if you’re a balloon artist, watch out for those skinny ones.

 

And finally (well for the purposes of this post because I’m out of time…)

As our estrogen drops a host of other things rise: Our weight… cholesterol… heart disease … blood sugar

All joking aside, for those of you with a family history of type-2 diabetes, get your A1c checked regularly. Like moi, you might be pre-diabetic and not even know it. If caught early, the damage can be minimized, stopped and sometimes reversed….

To the Peepos who actually stuck it out till the end hoping for more Popsicle titties…

 

ttfn…