Ok, a little mature lady talk. I’m 53. That mysterious age where these eerie transformations are supposed to be happening. They use to call it “The Change” which indicates you’re going to be altered or transformed into something different than you once were. Boy, I’ll say. I wasn’t sure what it was called way back when my Mama was going through it, but I certainly knew she was going through something and it wasn’t pleasant for any of us. I remember how the usually sweet, gentle, and kind woman began emitting sparks from her eyes and smoke rose from her mouth when anything made her mad. Anything covered a lot of ground back then. When there were no sparks or smoke, there were tears. And not just any tears- the epic kind that said, “you have ripped my heart from my chest and I will never recover from what you have done to me in this moment.” So, those were our choices for a couple of years. The crazed angry woman who could kill with the flaming arrows of her stare or the pitiful creature in a puddle of her own tears. Of course, while this was all going on, I was in my later teenage years and a hormonal hurricane all my own. As I recall, those were some good, good times. 

Well, since I had a partial hysterectomy, I’ve wondered how I would tell when I crossed over into that spooky change thing. I mean, would the eye sparks come first and then the large uptick in Kleenex usage? Would I start to notice more and more people trying to avoid me and that would be my first sign? I wasn’t clear on how that worked, but I may have noticed some stronger hints as of late. I think they could be put into two categories- physical changes where I feel as if my head is attached to an alien body- unfamiliar and of another world than the one I’ve been living in until now. And then the mental and emotional aspects in which it might be said that some of my fruits of the spirit have been out of season- namely the patience, long-suffering, and self-control. 

Now, those physical changes can be a doozy. I believe my facial hair progression, through the years, has gone from just a little bleach to hot wax to now a battery powered razor. Of course, they don’t call them razors when they’re for the ladies. No, it’s a personal trimmer. A beautiful metallic gold apparatus with the feminine sounding name, Flawless, written on the side, but let’s get real- it’s a miniature weed eater for hormone deficient women and, when I put it to my chin, it sounds just like the weed whacker hitting that tall patch of grass around our mailbox. My eyelids are drooping now and my neck is starting to show a lot of give and my arms are getting that textured look not unlike a worn leather recliner. And the pain in some of my joints even had me buying some of that topical pain relieving cream like my grandmother used. But the most glaring place I notice the physical change is around the middle. Oh, the middle. What is all that? Sure, I’ve had a muffin top since the children were born, but we seem to have advanced it to the next level. 

Needing a new dress for a wedding, I recently brought home two to try on with my shapewear and shoes as they can make all the difference, although, I’m not specifically a Spanx girl. I find it doesn’t really do much to minimize anything, but just gives it more the appearance of a water balloon. But, you know, we can only ask so much from our textile foundation garments. I mean, they’re not liposuction. Anyway, I determined one dress would work and the other was just too fitted in the midsection for this new and transforming me, where there is no longer a discernible change in girth from the rib cage to the waist. And I decided, while I was suited up in my spandex, I’d try on every dress in my closet and cull the hopeless cases- something I’ve been saying I needed to do, every Sunday, when I’m trying to decide what to wear to church. It took a while, but I struggled and pulled and sweated and ripped seams trying on each and every one. Now, they’re hung back in the closet in order from “Fitting For Now” to “Will Fit If I Drink More Water” to “Might Work If I Contract a Stomach Bug” to, finally, the “Will Require a 2 Week Liquid Diet” section in the very back. Who knows- someday, I may need some dental surgery. That would be the only way I’ll get back into that section. Anything that fell beyond those perimeters, I considered too far fetched and placed in the special give-away pile. 

The emotional and mental clues I’m getting from the ominous “Change” have been appearing for a while and are growing. I fixed myself a glass of tea at lunch today and then I fixed myself another glass of tea not remembering I’d fixed a glass of tea just two minutes earlier. My mind is as foggy as a……um….well….a really foggy place. And then there are my emotions. It’s like I can’t help it, sometimes. Something just comes over me. Yesterday, I was out running errands in the rain and I was in and out of the car all day and getting aggravated. Getting in and struggling with an impaired umbrella that was dripping all over everything had me spouting off words my Mama taught me never to say. And I find myself getting angry at inanimate objects. Like slinging the said malfunctioning umbrella all the way to the back of the car and hitting the window or kicking things that are in my way to show them who’s in charge. And I’ll just go ahead and warn you if I get behind you in traffic, you won’t be able to do anything right. You’ll be going too slow or taking too long to turn or driving in the wrong lane. I’ll find something in your driving to talk out loud to myself about and don’t be alarmed if I honk for emphasis. Just say, “Bless her little changing heart- her patience fruit has just completely rotted on the vine.” 

I’ve also become considerably more irate with injustice and unscrupulous behavior. I obviously can’t watch the news in my current state. It’s like I can’t let things go. I’m hormonal and I’m taking names. I’ve recently turned in a school bus that I felt was being unsafe and dialed the 1-800 number on the back of an 18 wheeler that was driving like a fool. Just today, I sat in wait to take pictures of the tag of a shoplifter. If I had a badge and a holster, I think I could really clean up some stuff. And if my new body wouldn’t look so ridiculous in those super hero costumes with the steel bras, I’d go so far to say I’d even be a good fit for the Justice League- somewhere between Superman, Green Lantern, and Wonder Woman, there I’d be- Mental Muffintop. I’d need an outfit with an empire waist for it to work though. 

So, all that to say, the times, they are a-changin’ and so am I, apparently. If you’re a-changin’ too, well, I feel ya and I’m here for you. So, let’s just forge ahead and carry on with what we were doing. What were we doing? Is it hot in here? What did you just say to me? I can’t remember why I called you. I can’t believe you’re not hot. Did I already tell you this? What do you mean the zipper won’t go any higher? Yes, I’d like to report an incident. Where did my eyebrows go? What were we talking about? What are all these brown spots? Nothing’s wrong- I’m fine.  

Y’all have a great weekend and for all you, young women, out there- never change.

JONI