It’s been over six years since I’ve slept with a blanket (much less a down comforter — I am not down with the down), and many times the thin cotton sheet is too much, even with the A/C on and the ceiling fan blowing. I remember Christmas 2009, singing “men-O-pause is coming…to town…”
My husband says that the heat I give off every night, well, you could almost say it glows. My metabolism has fallen and it can’t get up. I’m hungry but I’ll gain weight if I eat more than salad and lean chicken. I’m tired but they say sitting is the new smoking (so I say screw it and just lie down). Current beauty standards mock me. I watch as my waist gets thicker and my hair gets thinner, unresponsive to the reviving capabilities of any Diane Keaton-, Julianne Moore-, or Andie MacDowell-endorsed beauty products out there.
O Nature, thou art a cruel mother. “Waiter, more wine!”