Dear Hormones,
You and I have known each other for so many years now that I feel I can be completely honest with you, so here it is.
When you first came into my life I was swept off my feet! You "wowed" me with my developing “lady buds,” you excited me with the way my hips began to “round” in a whole new way, and you pleasantly caught me off guard with my first official growth spurt. Even though you caused me so much anxiety and embarrassment when I was informed I had “become a woman,” it was OK. After all, look at all the other weird and wonderful things you’d already done for me.
But in recent years our relationship has changed. Lately, you’ve been distant, some would say even cruel and bitter. I am both saddened and angry at the recent neglect I am no longer able to deny.
My breasts, once perky, have obviously lost your interest since they now sag to my belly-button region. I've gracefully accepted this, since some genius was brilliant enough to gift us with the padded push-up, demi-cup, returning the illusion of an ongoing flower-of-youth bust line.
The hips of my early 20s are no more, having turned to some form of cottage cheese, Jell-O concoction in your absence. Again, someone else obviously going through the same kind of painful relationship issues you and I are, gave us the butt-shaping jeans where thick, reinforced material does the job you were meant to do. Yes, I know there are exercises that would take up your slack, but we never used to have to work this hard. Things were just easier between us.
I’ve even learned to work around the way you seem to delight in pushing my buttons. Things like no longer being able to count on the ambient temperature when getting dressed. One minute I’m hot, the next I’m cold. You can never leave well enough alone, can you? And watching television together the way we once did? It’s become a trial of endurance, since cat food commercials now have the capacity to bring me to tears.
All of these things I have become accustomed to, even though I shouldn’t have to. But your latest stunt has left me speechless! Yes, I know I have always found it comforting to run the palm of my hand over hubby’s beard stubble, feeling the prickly tickling. (Weird, but hey! It’s just me.) Do you know what’s NOT comforting? Running the palm of your hand over your own chin and feeling the prickly tickling sensation.
Waxing my goatee once a month I have learned to live with. Tweezing my beard every three days is simply over-the-line unacceptable! You are forcing my hand to do something I seriously do not wish to do. Replacement therapy.
That’s right, if you aren’t willing to pull yourself together and put some work into our relationship, I will have no other choice but to consider the Doctor’s suggestion to replace you. The thought saddens me beyond words.
After all, my female ancestors never replaced you. They worked together, ending with the same hormones they started with. When things got tough, they sipped herbal tea, spending some quality quiet time together, working things out. Where’s our herbal tea, my friend? Where?
So, this is it. Consider this your final notice. Either you straighten up and show me you still care, that we have something worth fighting for, or that’s it! I will look somewhere else for the stabilizing influence I so need in my life.
With much love and hope for a fresh start,
Chris (The saggy lady currently shedding tears over an insurance commercial.)
