Guest: ‘Twas the Night before Menopause

Guest: ‘Twas the Night before Menopause

Stephanie Lewis
Once Upon Your Prime

Special to Historic City News

‘Twas the night before menopause, when all through my bod,
Not a creature moaned or complained more than me, OMG!

The Size 6’s were hung in the closet with care,
In the hopes that Jenny Craig would soon take me there.

My husband was nestled all snug in his bed,
While visions of erotic positions danced in his head.

When out on the lawn, there arose such a clatter
Like when I shoved a Hooter’s waitress with a taco-filled platter.

Away to the window I flew, triggering a hot flash,
(clammy skin, palpitations, and allergic heat rash).

(Brain fog made me forget to tear open the shutters and pull up the sash!)

Oh, the moon on the breast of the new fallen snow!
Not to mention my own breasts had sunk to a new low.

When what to my insomniac eyes should appear?
But a chatty black woman and a man ready to do my pap smear.

There was no plastic surgeon or Mary Kay chick!
Looking closer I saw it was Oprah with Doc Oz, her sidekick.

Then more rapid than eagles, symptoms showed up again,
And Dr. Oz whooped and shouted as he called them by name.

“Now Itchy, now Bitchy, Now Sweaty And Sleepy,
On Bloaty, on Moody, Forgetful and Weepy.

To the top of the medicine cabinet for symptom roll-call
and grab some Metamucil, Calgon, Midol, Prozac and Geratol!

Then up to the ceiling Fan, those celebrities flew,
Cameras rolling and interviews filming on cue.

Just then in a twinkling, I heard on the roof
A star from the 80s now more famous in spoof!

As I drew in my muffin top, and was turning around,
Down the chimney Ms. Suzanne Somers came with a bound.

She was dressed all in (faux) fur from her head to her (chiseled) thigh,
And she said, “Tis not the Thigh Master that keeps me so spry!”

Bundles of hormones were flung over her (well-toned) back,
With more Bio-Identicals stuffed in her (shapely) fanny pack.

Her eyes, how they sparkled, her dimples how merry,
Her cheeks were like roses, her lips like a cherry.

I begged, “Tell me you still enjoy Gluten and Dairy??”
“Why are YOU Somebody? Three’s Company’s long off the air!

(If I sound like a Grinch – It’s cause I just found a gray hair.)

What happened to the fat guy; his white beard and round belly?
That shook when he laughed, like a bowl full of jelly.

(And made me feel less guilty when I indulged at the Deli.)

Say, you don’t have a stump of pipe in your teeth,
With smoke that encircles your head like a wreath.
And I bet you don’t need any Spanx underneath!

I demand someone plump or a weird ‘Elf on the Shelf,’
Someone who makes me feel better when I compare myself!”

With a wink of her eye, and a twist of her shiny, platinum head,
Suzanne said, “No more Somercizing, you’ve nothing to dread!”

She spoke not another word and went straight to her work,
Filled a few lacy stockings, (with garters) flashing a sexy smirk,

And laying a manicured finger aside her cute button nose,
Her mom should warn her about smirking, maybe her face froze?

I sprung to my feet as Dr. Oz and gave a wolf whistle,
Could she offer me something beyond Black Cohosh and Milk Thistle?

Who knew a magical night with Suzanne, Oprah and Oz
Would make me feel so much better about my menopause?

And away they all flew, but I heard them exclaim,
“If you listen to us, you’ll be one awesome, hot dame!”

And the last thing I heard, as they drove out of sight:
“Happy Menopause to all – Don’t grow old without a fight!”

Stephanie D. Lewis, also known as Little Miss Menopause, pens a humor blog Once Upon Your Prime where she tries to “Live Happily Ever Laughter.” She is a frequent contributor to The Huffington Post, In The Powder Room, Midlife Boulevard, and Better After 50. Stephanie was named one of 2014 Voices of the Year by BlogHer. Her 2008 book, Lullabies & Alibis is the tale of marriage, motherhood, mistakes, menopause and madness. As a single mother of six, she knows a lot about the madness. She’s supervised potty training and driver’s training simultaneously, but there were just too many “accidents.” Live-in housekeeper? Nah, she’ll take a live-in psychotherapist, thank you.