We Need Showers!



Why isn’t there a menopause fairy? We put our uterus under our pillow and the next morning, we have bourbon, chocolate and Norman Reedus in our beds. Or Jason Momoa. You know, or whoever it is you think about in the middle of the night when insomnia is kicking your ass and your partner is snoring like a city bus.

Too much? Slightly unreasonable? I don’t know, I’m learning that if there is ever a time to be unreasonable, this is it.


How about a shower then? I don’t mean the regular kind, although I do seem to need those more often now because the night sweats. Although, they’re not really just night sweats.

Night sweats don't mean just that I'm hot. I have also been sweating while freezing or just freezing. Of course, I've also been just hot as well. Remember Jack Nicholson in the hedge maze at the end of The Shining? I’ve had fantasies about cuddling with him just to cool off. Only I'd probably reanimate him with my body heat. Stephen King should jump on this story line.


Last night when I was sweating while freezing, I came up with an invention. Like a mobile you put over a crib, only it’s a mobile for menopausal women. We'll call it a Pik-O-Blanket.

The Pik-O-Blanket (From now on, referred to as POB because typing hyphens annoys me), will be like one of those motorized tie racks that swivel, like the movable racks at the dry cleaners. Only the POB will have blankets raging from fuzzy bags filled with molten lava to silky thin hypothermia inducing blankets. Deluxe models can have built in music and a pill dispenser.


Anyway, the POB will be suspended from the ceiling. We'll be able to pick the blanket that best accommodates our body temperature at any given time during the night. I am finding that I would probably go through at least 3 dozen blankets a night.


Also, it would be cool if when we're extra toasty, we could hit a switch and the POB would turn into a gigantic fan made out of blankets. I'm probably going to need a bigger house for one of those, though. I’d need a bedroom with ceilings about 7 feet taller and 4 times wider than the one I have now.


Anyway, while I am finding I often desperately need a shower first thing in the morning, I am not talking about a shower with water and soap. I’m talking about a shower where people bring us presents.


We should get a shower when we reach cronehood.


Why not? People have parties for everything now. I mean,they did before the world went to shit. But someday, parties will come back. Bachelorette parties, baby showers, wedding showers, gender reveal parties. I was not aware of this until recently, but apparently, there are “push” presents. Which is expensive jewelry you get for pushing out a kid. I definitely missed out on the push presents. The only thing I got was a sore vagina. Well, and a kid. I guess looking back, if I had to pick, I’d still rather have the kid than a tennis bracelet.

The point is, embracing cronehood is a rite of passage and dammit, we deserve to be rewarded.


The first thing we need to do is take the word “crone” back. It has such a negative vibe. Perhaps some bumper stickers? “Crone Power!”, “Crone is the new sexy!” or “Everything’s coming up Crones!” I honestly don’t even know what that last one means, but I like it anyway.


The day comes when we wake up after sweating all night and we notice the smell is slightly different from what it used to be. When I was younger and I got sweaty, I smelled like pencil shavings. Now? I smell like the popcorn they sell at Target’s snack bar.


When we notice our old lady smell coming in, we should alert our friends and family and they should throw us a shower. I mean, a shower with soap and water seems like it would make sense when this happens. The shower would temporarily get rid of the old lady smell, but no one brings me presents when I take a regular shower. Which really, is kind of bullshit because, like I said, I missed out on the whole “push” present thing.

I don’t love this new smell, but I guess it could be worse. It could be olive loaf and cat food.


So, I was thinking, it sucks that the only showers I have to look forward to for the rest of my life are just for basic hygiene. I think we should get one last party. You know, for when we start smelling like insanely salty popcorn.


There would be games! Games like “Guess how many surgeries I’ve had in my life?” or “What is that on my arm? Is that an age spot?” The prizes would be drugstore reading glasses, comfortable underwear and sweatpants.

The following gifts are appropriate for a crone shower:

  • Dark chocolate

  • Bourbon

  • A remote that overrides all the other remotes

  • Hatchets

  • A book of excuses for getting out of social events

  • Shower gels and oils that have twine as part of the packaging. I’m a sucker for twine.

  • Soft touch mirrors. Think Olan Mills soft touch photos.

  • Socks that are warm, but also have little air conditioning units built in to cool off your feet when they get hot.

  • Obviously, a Pik-O-Blanket, if they ever get invented.

  • Target gift certificates. But not to the snack bar.

I have to say, I really am apprehensive about my near future. What if I'm being a wussy? I have had women tell me that their night sweats are/were so bad that they would soak through their clothes. I'm not sweating that bad. It's uncomfortable, sure, but I'm not swimming in sweat or anything.


Is this shit going to get worse? Because damn.


Also, is it tacky to throw a shower for yourself?


Michelle Poston Combs writes humorous and serious observations on life, menopause, anxiety, and marriage on her site, Rubber Shoes In Hell.

She lives in Ohio with her husband and youngest son. She stands at the precipice of empty nest syndrome which she finds both terrifying and exhilarating.

Michelle programs computers to pay the bills. She counters this soul sucking endeavor by contributing to Jen Mann’s anthology I Still Just Want To Pee Alone, Huffington Post, Scary Mommy, Better Homes and Garden, Grand, Vibrant Nation, Erma Bombeck's Writers Workshop, New Jersey Family Magazine, and Listen To Your Mother.




© 2020 by Perry