That Special Time Of Life

By Margaret Van Every
This email address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it.

Egg cells peak numerically during the embryo’s 20th week of gestation at around 6 or 7 million, after which they dramatically degenerate and decline in number throughout a woman’s life. Only about 500 cells are actually used for potential fertilization, and at menopause only a few thousand remain.
Since peddlers caught wind that menopause
is a market, they’ve coined a pretty phrase for it—
“that special time of life.” What’s special about it
is that a woman runs out of eggs, and her body
runs amok when all the eggs are gone.
Does she miss the eggs? Hell no, she never
saw one unless the thing was zapped.
For forty years she’d see the bloody wash
that flushed the eggs away, the corks and rags.
Nonetheless, some say she grieves when all
the eggs are gone—grieves she’ll see the bloody
messenger no more, grieves for lost potential.
But this is a special time of life, they say. Could this
be what they mean: for want of estrogen her bones
will thin, her back bow, her privates atrophy,
and she may be incontinent, a fancy word
for needing diapers. Flashes, sweats, and migraines,
too, make this a special time, but not to worry,
she’s not sick, she’s changing. Hairs on her head
may take a mind to go and leave her bald; those
hanging on, lose luster, turn gray. Whiskers will sprout
where never seen before. Wrinkles, wens, and spots
will force character on this woman’s face, before so bland.
Her arteries will harden, mental functions blur, and
equal at last with men, she’ll be at risk of heart
disease in all its forms. During this special time,
if husband or lover views The Change with patience,
sex could be a blast, there being no concern
for pregnancy or prophylaxis. Children grown
and gone, the bedroom’s finally safe for sex,
the sanctuary dreamed of all those years. The problem
is, the lady out of eggs may be out of something else—
desire, because ‘t was hormones all along that made
her like it so and now she can’t seem to give a fuck,
plus the prick in question may not find the sagging
flesh and shriveled parts appealing. So, what’s
a prick to do that has its own depletion woes,
running out of juice and jazz, running out and down?
Take heart. You see, it’s his special time of life,
as well. This simultaneous coming apart is part
of nature’s plan for golden years. How sweet it is
to come of age together and fall downhill like
Jack and Jill, hand in hand, and laugh the whole
way down—that is, till someone breaks a crown.
Pin It

Add comment

Security code

FROM MY TROPICAL DECK CHAIR By “Consuelo”   Painting is a passion that, for me, operates outside the twin arenas of need and greed. Oh sure,
Joyful Musings By Joy Birnbach Dunstan, MA, LPC, MAC Living Life on Purpose   We’re so lucky living here in Paradise! But for some, paradise
A NEW LEASE—on Life! By Judit Rajhathy, B.A., RNCP, D.Ac. Change Your Thoughts - Change Your Life   We have so much to learn from our Mexican
THE DANGER THAT IS RELIGION By John de Waal “The scriptures are infallible. They are the word of God!”   Because of their inflexible belief,
A NEW LEASE—on Life! By Judit Rajhathy, B.A., RNCP, D.Ac. Time for Change   To everything there is a season, and a time to every purpose under
Wordwise With Pithy Wit By Tom Clarkson   This morning, my pal F.T. – who shared the Iraq experience with me during my third trek there – forwarded
LAKESIDE LIVING Kay Davis Phone: 376 – 108 – 0278 (or 765 – 3676 to leave messages) Email: November
Front Row Center By Michael Warren    The Pajama Game By Richard Adler and Jerry Ross Directed by Peggy Lord Chilton Music directed
Every Word  Important By Herbert W. Piekow   Every word a writer writes has meaning yes, sometimes they never get published or the book
LEGERDEMAIN—Italian Style By Jim Rambologna   Enzio Grattani was the Editor-in-Chief of a local rivista (or magazine) in Ajiermo, Italy. Locals