Silver Lining

Bikini wax? Check!

Pedicure? Check!

Shaved legs? Check!  

Brad hopes I’m prepping for a romantic evening. Fat chance. I’m headed to my annual Pap smear. Going to the gynecologist is like having company over and there’s no place to hide the clutter. I don’t want to be the inspiration for a new reality show, Hairy Hoarders Gone Wild. I’m hoping if the landscaping looks good, the doctor won’t notice my sagging curtains and cellulite-patterned wallpaper.

Seeing the dentist is far less intimidating and I’ve walked away with the Scarlet Folder of Shame awarded to losers whose oral hygiene will be the center of that day’s office banter and possibly highlighted in the next Journal of the American Dental Association. But unlike a gynecologist, the dentist doesn’t go spelunking where I can’t see and best of all, he doesn’t care about my weight -- at least not until the motor grinds to a stop while raising the recliner or the hygienist has to find a double-wide lead apron for my X-rays.

The good news is, my gynecologist is a woman close to my age who knows exactly what “The Change of Life” implies.  FYI, “change” means: “to make the form, nature, content, future course, etc., of (something) different from what it is, or from what it would be, if left alone.” Lord I’d love to be left alone. With my kids off to college, someone asked me, “How’s the empty nest?” Nodding towards my husband I answered, “Not empty enough.”

Thankfully, the doctor doesn’t lecture me about my weight gain. She does ask if I’m exercising regularly. Sometimes I run with a bad crowd or crab walk in my rolling desk chair while vacuuming. Oh, and if you count using my husband’s belly as a Pilates ball, then yes, I exercise. You might say I believe in cross-training.

One nice thing about seeing a gynecologist is getting to lie down. I go to my safe place counting the holes in the ceiling tiles. I am connecting dots conjuring up George Clooney when the swab makes me squirm.  She apologizes immediately and goes on to explain it’s because my cervix is thinning. Seriously?  Something’s actually getting thinner? You’d think my husband could have said something. I let him know his hair is thinning.

On the way home I decide to make a dentist appointment. I need to strike while the speculum is hot. I can’t wait to hear how thin my gums are getting. I won’t even have to shave beforehand. Okay, maybe my upper lip.  

Change is inevitable, but tarnished or not, a silver lining is still silver.