Girls hear about menopause their whole life. Youth pays no rightful mind. The change of life doesn't have a place among Barbie dolls, tree forts and forty-five's, marbles and The Monkees. The sixties were the best.
Still, through the years I heard the words hot flash. Mother's magazines told of hot flashes. I remember mention of them in the movies, as a teenager when the seventies brought cool bell bottoms and colorful Hang Ten tees.
But no-one, no where, ever mentioned hair growth. OK this is what happened.
One innocent fall morning I drive to my running loop. The sun is high beaming down strong and hot through the truck's visor. Adjusting the mirror to wipe peach lipstick across my lips I notice something. Huh? What is that?
Moving my arm up again to repeat the same motion I still see it, waving in the air. What is that? I brush my arm off thinking it must be a dog hair. Looking again it is still there. Whatever it is is stuck to me.
Sliding my glasses on and holding my arm up to the sunlight the problem is instantly clear. Oh my, I have long hair on my arms. Great. Just great. Now I'll have to shave my arms on top of everything else. Goodness I am already going through razors like I groom dogs for a living. Unbelievable. I am sprouting hair like a thirty year old Cuban man. Muy malo.
Speaking about Barbie dolls, when Mattel designed their mature, older Madge Barbie they did not make her real-time. Definitely a good marketing move. After all, who would buy a Barbie covered in hair? And what would her accessories be? A mini fan, block of ice and a years supply of Nair? You could throw in some yellow 'do not cross' scene tape for her mood swings. No wonder Ken is hanging out with Malibu Barbie instead.
What was our maker intending with the hair? Oh, I know, must be to soak up the sweat.
Putting my rosy glasses back on I will concur with my lovely niece. She so sweetly pointed out "Auntie, at least it's blonde."
Yea, blonde..... like Rapunzel. On my arms.
A LTTLE BIT OF IVEY
