I don't mind getting older...as long as I still look 17.

Mother Nature is chock full of cruel jokes for girls and women throughout their lives, but my favorite so far is perimenopause. This is the pre-game warm up to full blown menopause and can last for many years prior to the Big Show. I started getting night sweats about 3 years ago- not waking up kinda sweaty like when you have a bad dream. This is waking up soaking wet- so wet in fact, that I wasn't sure if I was sweating that badly or if I had pissed myself. Oh yeah, cause if you've had a baby, pissing yourself is also a distinct possibility. Once I was able to determine that I did not piss myself and I had actually sweated myself through a pair of pajamas and bedding, I sought out medical advisement. That's where I was introduced to the term "perimenopause". Here's what I like best- the "peri" in perimenopause is short for period, as in the one you still get while suffering the menopause symtoms of a sloth-like metabolism, mood swings and hot flashes. Yes ladies, it's the best of both worlds- sort of like a teenager trapped in an old lady body. This was the same time that I gained 40 pounds and started getting these tumor-like zits on my chin the size of a dime. When I was a teenager, I got the occasional normal sized pimple now and then but had clear skin for the most part. These suckers come from the depths of hell and have their own pulse and take weeks to months to clear up. I've put everything on them shy of Drano and those mothers will not go down. It always ends the same way- I somehow think that an unsightly swollen red lump under the skin is more offensive than an oozing bloody scab so bathroom surgery it is. I'm an excellent bathroom surgeon- I have at least 4 different sizes of safety pins and tweezers for lancing and squeezing of all varieties of infected looking bump-ish type things. I soak a safety pin in rubbing alcohol and stab the living hell out of that thing and then squeeze it until my eyes water. Within a day or two, it looks like a flesh eating disease, but I'll do the same thing next time. It defies logic that the same body can have super acne and gray hair at the same time. I wish that gigantic zits were the only disturbing thing about my chin. I've reached that age that all of the other women in family have reached before me when the huge single black face hair begins to grow. If you have even one drop of Mediterranean blood in your lineage, you know this hair- it's the one that grew out of your grandmother's mole or out of her chin, and it was 3 inches long and black. As a child, you'd stare at it and wonder how the hell she didn't see that God forsaken thing and just yank it out. Let me tell you why...SHE DIDN'T KNOW IT WAS THERE! Each morning I search my chin and mole below my lip for that hair, and I swear to Jesus, it's not there. I'll be damned if later that night, I'll be washing my face and there it is...mocking me, knowing I had been to 20 places and talked to 100 people who had to have noticed that single 3 inch long black hair growing out of my face- the one that absolutely was not there earlier that day. Where does that thing come from? Does it go into hiding until I leave the house? When I'm not busy growing a beard, I'm focusing on gravity and what I can do to prevent its ill effects. If I am in fact suffering from the role that gravity plays on a woman's body, why don't my feet the size of clown shoes. Gravity seems to have stopped at my butt. I've never heard a woman complain about how fat their toes have gotten since they've turned 40. The biggest disappointment is my boobs. I used to leave Victoria's Secret with hundreds of dollars in bras, underwear, and other unmentionables, but now, I dread it like my dog dreads going to the vet. The last time, the tape measure clad girl asked me what size bra I wore and my response was "36 Long". She said "Excuse me?" So, I said "Uhhhh....D. 36D." She brought me a bunch to try on, and I immediately handed back everything without underwire. Once the girls have begun to "fly under the radar", they need the underwire for support. I used to worry about my boobs exploding out the top of my bra...now, I worry about them falling out the bottom. Underwire is like a belt for your boobs- holds them up! No more bras without a belt! Braless days came to an end after I nursed a child, and a bralette sounds like the name of the bra's little sister. My boobs are all grown up so save "bralette" for girls her own age. At this point, I would like a bra with underwire and please make the straps out of that same material safety straps for skydiving harnesses are made of so the skinny little straps quit making divots in my shoulders. While your doing a redesign, some sort of sweat absorbing fabric to soak up the boob sweat would also be handy so I don't have to keep stuffing my hand down there to sop it up with paper towels. Better yet, how about one with a battery operated fan in it? Each day, it keeps getting worse- too old for the juniors department. Even if the clothes fit, it embarrasses my teenage son when the girls he goes to school with and his mom are wearing the same thing. I can only take solace in knowing that each year gets me closer to a pair of elastic waist denim shorts and a t-shirt with embroidered kittens. At least the button won't dig into my gut...