I begin the new week in much the same way I ended the old, cranky. The reasons for my cranky attitude are virtually limitless. In addition to hot flashes that rival anything Dante could imagine are the less than witty comments made by health care professionals about my age. One example: “Hot flashes are typical for a woman your age.” There’s nothing helpful in that diagnosis but the doctors seem especially proud for having made it. It’s imperative I leave the doctor’s office immediately after such keen observation or I’d be forced to insert the point of my Tony Lama cowboy boot right in the doctor’s…uh…let’s say prescription pad. I can’t help but wonder if this is such a natural progression of life why there’s no Barbie doll to represent that stage. We could call her Hot Flash Barbie – press Barbie’s bellybutton and watch her face turn beet red while tiny drops of perspiration appear on her forehead. She comes with a hand-held fan and tiny tissues. I’ve noticed a few whiskers emerging as of late. Maybe they aren’t really chin hairs just stray eyebrows. Whatever they are I can style them easier than my own hair which always looks like it’s been trimmed with a Bic lighter. And then there’s the issue of finding a quality bra that fits. When I was in my 20s I was told to look for a bra that both lifts and separates. Now I’m just looking for one that lifts. I cannot bring myself to take bra-sizing tips from the nineteen year-old working at Victoria Secret however. I simply cannot take advise from someone who purchased their breast as recently as last week. It was suggested recently that I take a trip to the ocean, maybe go for a swim. I’m sure that won’t help my cranky disposition. I could snap a thumb off getting this frame into an ill-fitting, spandex suit. I think the life expectancy of a woman my age decreases substantially swimming in the ocean too. You think the lifeguards try hard to rescue fifty year old women? My guess is they see a fifty year old woman with a few chin hairs in an ill-fitting, spandex suit with a pair of broken thumbs and they decide to stay on shore. I can hear them saying something like, “She’s lived a long life. Let her go.” I know that in the overall scheme of things these aren’t real challenging issues but I’ve had my fill of those. My brother Scott is struggling with serious health problems now. He’s been in the hospital and doctors are unable to figure out what’s wrong. I don’t want anything to happen to him. And then there’s my brother Rick. It’s been more than eight years since he was taken away. The bad guys continue to go unpunished. I count the lawyer who pretended to represent us in the case as one of the bad guys. I used to regard all lawyers with respect bordering on reverence. Not anymore. Like Pamela Anderson, the legal profession started out with good intentions, just somewhere along the line it got really scary. Speaking of Pamela Anderson, I bet she doesn’t take advice from the Victoria Secret gals either. But then I guess she doesn’t have to.
