Hello ladies. I have been MIA for a minute. It is not because I haven't had anything to say - most of you know I am hardly ever without something to say. I've just been trying to figure out this life God has gifted me with. Like many of you I want to do this second part a little bit better than the first part. Anyway, I'm back!-sj
Somebody quick! WTHGO?
I am a woman of a certain age and frankly I am loving it
almost exclusively. There are, however,
a few little nuances that are causing me to reminisce and reflect back on “the
good old days”. Let me stop those of you
who want to lambast me for thinking about the good old days in a format that is
reminiscent of my own emotional memory. But, that is what this is about – my own
emotional remembrance and the lack of estrogen in my life.
It’s simple really. I’m sure many of you reading this will
understand where I am coming from as you read on.
The other morning I was tweaking my locs. They have a
tendency to want to make love to one another getting all wrapped up and tangled
together if I am not diligent about their grooming. As I was tweaking and twisting, I noticed a
large part in the crown of my head. A
large “part” translates to a “bald spot”.
WTF!!! Now, my hair has always been on the thin side but a bald spot!
You know I went straight to my friend Google to see if I
could find out why this was happening.
I mean my locs have grown past my shoulders and look pretty healthy. So why is it thinning in the top? [taking a
deep breath] It is thinning because I am getting older and my estrogen level
ain’t what it used to be. This is one
of the nuances I mentioned earlier.
In the good old days my estrogen levels soared. There was no
hair on my face that had to be waxed, plucked or shaved weekly. There was no gray sprigs growing around the
edges of my once sandy red mane. And,
most importantly – although less available to public scrutiny, the hair down there was not sparse nor was it the
color of salt and pepper.
Yes, I’m talking about the good old days when my thighs
weren’t riddled with dimples (aka cellulite). A time when I could sit Indians
style on a concrete floor, stand up and do jumping jacks without my knees
locking, screaming and threatening to not function at all. Back when I could resist the urge to pee
until the feeling to release was gone. Now, when I feel the tickle I had better
find the nearest restroom or I will be wishing I were wearing Depends.
I want to write a book and scream from the roof tops. I want to tell young women to get their shiza
together now so they can play later. I
want to warn them about all the damage they are doing to their minds and
bodies. And, I want my Marvelously
Mature sisters to not only help me spread the word, but to also start taking
better care of themselves.
I have so much more to say about this subject but for now I
think I’m just going to grab a class of Moscato. WTHGO?!!
