What Does it Feel Like to be a Middle-Aged Lady?
It's hot as balls.
Ever wonder what if feels like to be trapped in the body of a Middle-Aged Lady?
Hold it, guys! SIT YOUR ASSES DOWN!
This isn’t for the Middle-Aged Ladies1— WE KNOW WHAT IT’S LIKE.
This one is for you. Or really anyone who hasn’t entered the Middle-Aged Change Chamber.
Middle-Aged Lady bodies affect us all. This is a global crisis! Where is FEMA with my necklace fan and pallet of GAS-X?
Perhaps you live with a Middle-Aged Lady
Perhaps you are friends with a Middle-Aged Lady
Perhaps a Middle-Aged Lady is raising you
Middle-Aged Ladies walk amongst you.
We are at school drop-off, at sporting events, flipping you off in a Trader Joe’s parking lot.
You might be confused by some of the behaviors exhibited by your neighborhood Middle-Aged Lady. That is the right response! We too are confused!
Let’s start with a short Q&A to cover the basics:
Q: What is happening to you??? Why are you acting like this??? - Bart, husband of a Middle-Aged Lady in Seattle, WA
A: Thanks for the question, Bart from Seattle! Certainly you know about menopause— the “natural biological process” that no one outside of a 2 x 2 ad in the back of HGTV magazine talks about. Even my doctor was bored by the topic.
“So, yeah, that’s probably happening pretty soon,” she said, closing my chart.
Awesome. Thanks, doc. Anything I should know? Or do? Can I get a literal doctor’s note to explain this to my family?
The layman’s definition of menopause is “when a woman’s exterior body and emotional state experiences metamorphosis and she reemerges as a thirteen-year-old boy.”
So, my best non-medical, layman’s ascertainment is, YES I THINK THAT IS WHAT’S HAPPENING TO ME, BART FROM SEATTLE!
Q: What is perimenopause and why is spellcheck insisting this is not a word??? - Middle-aged Lady, also from Seattle, WA
A: Thanks for the question, you beautiful, sweaty goddess. Perimenopause is indeed a word and very much a “thing.” A quick Google search provides this eloquent and informative definition: “The time around menopause.”
Wow! You can really see how invested our medical and scientific professionals are in this “natural biological process” that almost every woman of a certain age will experience. I feel seen!
Q: How long does this last? - Bart, husband of a Middle-Aged Lady in Seattle, WA
A: Oh look, it’s Bart from Seattle again. Hmm… I DON’T KNOW, BART! Could be anywhere from three months to thirty-seven and a half years!
I know you and Bart have many questions. You should! No one wants to talk about this! Rest assured, it’s not you, it’s us. Except when it’s MOST DEFINITELY YOU. But mostly us. It ain’t pretty, but I am here to break it down for you. And I’m gonna get real sweaty in the process.
So what is happening to our changing bodies???
1. WE ARE FILLED WITH RAGE.
And also sentimental, nonsensical, existential angst.
Middle-aged Ladies mean no harm. Except when we do because, IT FEELS SO GOOD TO BITE SOMEONE’S HEAD OFF AND RAGE!
The RAGE comes on fast, sometimes even taking us by surprise. One minute we’re slicing sweet potatoes into perfect little matchsticks and the next we’re brandishing a crinkle cut knife and looking for a bar brawl. WHO LEFT THEIR SHOES BY THE DOOR? WHO PUT AWAY PJ BOTTOMS IN THE SHORTS DRAWER? WHY DO WE NEED YAMS AND SWEET POTATOES WHEN THEY ARE SO DAMN SIMILAR???
But why so angry? You ask.
WHY NOT!? We answer. Also, never ask a Middle-Aged Lady why she is angry! We don’t know. Probably hormones? (Maybe I should Google that.) What I do know is sometimes I’m nice and sometimes my husband finds me at the sink shaking an upended coffee machine, screaming about how I found six coffee grounds in my mug and everything is broken, the world is broken, and NO ONE DOES ANYTHING AROUND HERE!
2. BUT NOT JUST RAGE!
RAGE is nice, but it isn’t our only emotion. We are complex beings! Multifaceted. Equal opportunity emotional extremists! We can be sad and sentimental and reflective and anxious. So anxious! Is forgetful an emotion? We are that too. We can be all of these things all at once! What was I talking about?
3. WE ARE FILTERLESS
When one of my best friends turned 40, she told me I looked like a character from her son’s favorite cartoon. That's cute! Who?
Elsa?
Anna?
Starfire from Teen Titans?
Nope. It was one of these dudes:
The Middle-Aged Lady Changeover often coincides with that beautiful time in a woman’s life where her filter melts away and she just doesn’t give an F anymore. Honeybadger’s got nothing on us. If we have an opinion (we do!) we’ll dole it out like a second helping of vegan mashed potatoes on Thanksgiving. You didn’t ask for this, but you will smile and choke it down because you are so scared of us.
WE ARE SO GODDAMN HOT!
Thanks, but not that kind of hot. I’m talking turn down the heat, hot!
Disclaimer: The following image might be disturbing to some readers. You have been warned.
This is a photo of an actual hot flash in action.
It was October in Seattle and I was walking with a fellow Middle-Aged Lady friend when out of no where she was assaulted by a case of the sweats. She dropped her dog’s leash and just started chucking her layers right there on the sidewalk.
“It’s happening!” she yelled. “Hang on!”
What did I do? Picked up her AirPods so her dog didn’t step on them and took this picture because everything is content.
But don’t worry about us. We’ll be just fine thanks to the great minds out there hitting up the The U.S. Patent and Trademark Office with practical, affordable, and flattering temperature control inventions like this:
I like it to be a comfortable 57 degrees in my Change Chamber. Too bad I’m married to a man with the temperature regulation of a grasshopper.
“Go put on a sweater, GERTRUDE!” I yell to my husband who is shivering on the couch under two blankets. I hand him a nice Alfred Dunner cardigan with tissues already stuffed up the sleeves.
Speaking of sweaters, that’s me! I’m a sweater. This is new to me as nary a drop of perspiration has ever beaded on my skin regardless of the actiity— working out, walking from my dad’s car to the entrance of a Marshall’s on an April afternoon in Florida, telling my mom those were definitely not my Genesse Cream Ales stuffed in my LeSportsac purse.
If I sense anyone slowing their roll as they pass the thermostat, my hackles raise and I pounce.
“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?”
“Where did you come from???” they shriek.
“What were going to do?” I insist. “Did you really think you’d get away with it?”
“Please,” they beg. “I was walking to the bathroom. Just let me peeeeeee!”
Do not test me! I will shank the bitch who cranks that dial. YOU CRANK, I SHANK! Crank and Shank! (Taking preorders for t-shirts now.)
The hot flashes aren’t even that bad. YET. But I have seen my future. I have fond and terrifying memories of my mom yelling for someone to OPEN A GODDAMN WINDOW while she shoved the ice cubes from my Fanta down her cleavage. One time we were at a Pizza Hut. Did you know the windows at Pizza Hut do not open?
This went on for 15 years.
15 years!
Q: Did you say 15 years???
A: GET LOST, BART FROM SEATTLE!
5. THESE ARE NOT OUR BODIES!
Like the heat that explodes into our skin suits, we have zero control over the morphing and expanding of our bodies The other day I was looking at a lemon pasta recipe on Pinterest and gained four pounds. I had to untie the waistband of my sweats just to write down the ingredients list.
I now have acne. That’s fun. I’ve had the same zit just above my left cheekbone for seven weeks. And apparently I’m in the chin hair club now too. Found my second one when I was slathering benzoyl peroxide on a chin pimple. There it was, growing peacefully like a coneflower in the shadow of my adult acne. I mean, that’s some middle-aged chin ambition, people. A hair and a zit? And yes, of course I took a picture! (But I’m gonna paywall that shit.)
I wish I had better news for you, but there’s no sugarcoating it. (If there were, there’d still be no sugarcoating because I would have licked it all off and gained another eight pounds.) It’s not easy being a Middle-Aged Lady. But do we complain? YES OF COURSE WE DO! You can’t live without us and you certainly can’t live with us.
But Shelly, you ask. There must be something we can do!
Maybe. But you’ll never know.
Here is actual footage of a Middle-Aged Lady’s hormones just waiting for you to ask if something’s wrong:
XO,
Shelly
Q: Hi! I’m a new subscriber! Are you always this unhinged?
A:
I have decided to capitalize Middle-Aged Ladies as we are a proper noun.
You forgot the 3AM shuffle. Too hot to sleep, open the windows. Lay back down. Have to pee. Back up. Birds start chirping at 5 fucking thirty.windows closed. Then Scott feom Schenectady asks "Why are you always tired?"
A little teary from laughing so hard at this post. So good. So (sadly) accurate.