My Menopausal Musings

Last night, as part of my pre-Oscar movie-going frenzy I went to see “Up In The Air.” I remain haunted by Ryan Bingham and the look on his face when his lover tells him he is a parenthesis. In the beginning of the film Ryan and Alex seem to be cut from the same fabric – embracing aloneness; looking for entertainment; going back to their corners. Then something happens and Ryan’s heart opens up to possibilities beyond his own private universe. He begins to fall in love. Even more, he decides to share the news with the woman he loves only to discover that she was more like him that he was. Ryan: I thought I was part of your life. Alex: I thought we signed up for the same thing… I thought our relationship was perfectly clear. You are an escape. You’re a break from our normal lives. You’re a parenthesis. Ryan: I’m a parenthesis? I’ve been on both sides of that conversation. In years gone by I have been like Ryan and Alex – cool, falsely compassionate, struggling to mitigate my own ...

Last night I got a booty call. About two and a half years ago I had an unfortunate fling with a tall, handsome, and slightly younger man. I was reeling from my sad encounters with The Bartender and he was still stinging from his own breakup. One thing led to another and then, under the excuse of meeting his new puppy, we attempted to find comfort in each other’s arms. The night came to an abrupt end. He was rude and I pretended not to be hurt. A year later he sent a text message that I ignored. I never expected that I would hear from him again. Last night I received an e-mail saying hello, informing me that his puppy was all grown up, adding that he owed me dinner. You could have knocked me over with a feather. I confess I was surprised to hear from him and admit to being quite flattered that he still had me on his mind. After a bit of deliberation, I replied that dinner in the coming week would be lovely. He then suggested I see him “tonight.” Since it was 11pm I said no. ...

Round Three has been very disappointing, but all is not lost. Faux 60 Year Old Man resurfaces and joins the roster. I am incredibly happy to hear from him. During this period of time he makes contact on several occasions and I am delighted. When he is with me he is kind, smart, thoughtful and vulnerable about personal issues that are impacting his life. I don’t want to be, but I believe I am smitten. I truly enjoy his company even when we aren’t having earth-moving aerobic sex. He couldn’t be more inappropriate or unrealistic or wrong for me. Even worse, each time he resurfaces I realize that I have actually missed him. I cannot deny that it is true. The encounter is more than fun, but his youth is beginning to annoy me, especially how he communicates – only via e-mail. The menopausal synapses finally connect and I realize that he has all of my contact information but I have none of his. Not everyone spends their life on the web. I am sure other women are receiving yellow roses, but he...

It is date day. He calls me and I explain that I find myself in his home town. He offers to drive me home and to take me out in the city. Without hesitation I agree. So much for the mad planning of menopausal women. Frantically, I shower and dress while having a hot flash. It is August, and while my friend is also having hot flashes, her husband is very thin, never hot and has no understanding of why I am sweating, swelling, yelling, crying and gasping for breath. I have fifteen minutes to be ready. The solution? Teething rings left in the freezer from years gone by placed between and under each breast. I am just beginning to breathe normally and the doorbell rings. My friend and I are paralyzed. Her husband befuddled. Insisting that my friend stay in the kitchen – I know her nose was pressed up against the window as I left – I go to answer the door for my mystery date. He is exactly what he represented. He is young, cute and smart. Stepping out with my most vivacious self, I hopped in...

Then there were a few freaks thrown in. Thank God most of the on-line dating services allow you to initially communicate anonymously and to block unwanted attempts at communication. Then they come pouring in. There are a couple of flirtations that seem as though they might go somewhere. It was still too soon to tell. Then along came an entirely different kind of flirtation. He was cute, fair and younger than springtime. He began with what seemed like a sincere question about my on-line profile. He wondered if I truly loved dinosaur bones. Many e-mails were anonymously exchanged. We only have the information we have chosen to share about each other and what is supposed to be a recent photo. I wonder why he likes me and I ask him why he has chosen to flirt with a woman so much older – he is only 36. Is he typically attracted to older women? He says I am beautiful. And so the instant messaging conversations begin. The first one is more than flirtatious but does not cross the line. He is f...