And here's to you. . .

In earlier posts I've likened menopausal women to toddlers and to teenagers. And to my dog. But lately I'm feeling more like Benjamin Braddock in the early scenes of The Graduate. (As opposed to the later scenes with Mrs. Robinson. I am not looking for my own young Benjamin. Nor my own older Mr. Robinson. Just to be clear.) You know, the scenes where he's floating in the pool, or sitting underwater in his scuba diving equipment. The aimlessness. The detachment. The lassitude. The disengagement.

I keep waiting for someone to stick their face in front of me and whisper, "Plastics!"