So long and thanks for all the fish

My computer went on strike this last week-but I was rushing around and doing my due diligence, as it were, so that was pretty much okay.

I felt really down on Saturday-and it took me awhile to figure out the reason why: two years ago (almost to the day) I had the horrible cancer surgery. It was so brutal that I can remember just about everything-and it's two years later. So I wallowed in that for awhile, and then decided to go sit in the park, since it was one of those rare sunny days. First I went to Starbucks. I figured that if I was going to make myself miserable, I might as well do it with a Mocha Frappuccino. Then I would feel fat and miserable. So I sat with my drink and idiot watched for awhile. It's still amazing to me that these people actually survived past puberty. Yikes!!

I woke up on Sunday and found that I felt better. Not only did I feel better-but I realized that this was my first Sunday as a free woman. I had no more obligations to the Unitarian Church-and no obligations to the Age UK people. The new CEO hired someone full time to work on fundraising, so I was able to go next door and tell my elderly neighbor that I couldn't do any more for her. She was happy that I had put myself out in the first place-so that was a job (almost) well done.

I decided to do something constructive-so I started going through all my books. Amazing what you find when you haven't looked at a bookshelf for a long time. I found the Hitch Hikers Guide to the Galaxy, which I haven't read in years-and so many other books that brought back memories of the past. I must admit I felt a bit sad: I had good memories and not so good memories, but I didn't want to just get rid of books-I might just want to read some of them again (or not. I'm such a hoarder!).

I was talking to another patient when I was in the clinic yesterday. Actually, I was talking to the nurse,this old guy overheard and just had to put his two cents in. You know the type: nosy, so very nosy. And he asked why I would want to have reconstruction at all, unless I was doing it for some man (cheeky, eh?). So I looked at him and asked how he would feel if someone had to cut off his penis. After all, I said, you could always use a tube, couldn't you? Oh, but that is different. And, I asked, how is that different? Women seem to be defined by our chest size (by men, certainly). The bigger, the better. Why else would women have implants to give them torpedo tits? I've seen some whose breasts are so big they enter a room ten minutes before the woman does. And you see old men with young women-all of whom have huge breasts. The brains of a Hostess Twinkie, but huge breasts. The breast size is what counts. And the age, of course. And the men! Obviously they have money-why else would a 30 year old even look at someone in his-60s? 70s? Someone who doesn't even have his own hair and teeth, and who probably has a lifetime supply of Viagra to go with his fake tan and his testicles that are probably the size of raisins.

I said this to Steve, the other patient, and I thought he was going to have apoplexy. Meanwhile, the nurse had to turn away, she was laughing so hard. She did turn and look at me and give me the thumbs up, so I knew I was on a roll. He began to splutter, and said "Well I think.." and I cut him off and said nobody gives a crap what you think. And it serves you right for eavesdropping, doesn't it?

Ah, there is nothing even remotely PC about this blog, as you have figured out by now. You get to a certain age (middle age, if you must know), and you can (must) express your opinions-especially if you are talking to a moron. There is a lot more to middle age than CRS (can't remember shit), and lines and wrinkles, grey hair, breasts heading south toward the knees (one thing I don't have to worry about. Yet.), wobbly bits that have more wobbly bits...don't I make middle age sound grand! And the memory starts to go, too. Oh joy.

Listen-if the men can find adolescents to make them feel better, we can find toyboys to do the same. If that is what we want. Men are allowed-but there is such a rampant double standard: we become "cougars" and "baby snatchers". I'll be a cougar or baby snatcher any day-rather than hook up with some old guy who expects me to be his nurse (or worse: nanny).

Go hunting, ladies. Go hunting. I may not be a spring chicken-but I'm no old broiler, either!!