Fetish Night in Middle Earth

"Is there such a thing as 'Cosplay?' " I ask.

David raises an eyebrow.  We're still lying in bed, the alarm has just gone off.  He yawns.   "Uhhhhh.... yeah.  Costume Play.  Like people who dress up from Star Trek or Anime or Marvel characters."

"I was having this dream last night and it was all about a 'Cosplay' club.  It was this huge mansion in downtown Toronto.  Except it wasn't people dressing up as super heroes it was people dressing up as fantasy creatures... fairies, elves, pixies..."  I pause when it hits me...  "Oh wait... it might have been a kinky kind of club... some of the costumes were topless."

Both of David's eyebrows are now raised.

"So I was at the club, and I got separated from my friends and I came upon this giant hamster run.  So I was playing with the hamster..."

"Wait, was this a guy in a hamster costume... or....?"

"No, this was an actual hamster, they weren't those sort of costumes.  But wouldn't it be kinda cool to have a giant hamster run for people?"

"Be kind of hot if you had to wear the hamster costume though..."

"So they warned me not to play with the hamster..."

"But you played with it anyway..."

"Well, yeah...  And as I was snuggling with the hamster, it poohed all over me.  But it was sick and it kind of had diarr...."

"Thank you.  Got it."

"But the weirdest part..."

"We haven't gotten to the weird part yet?"

"No, the weirdest part was that I was even at this club."

"What do you mean?"

"The club opened at 2:00 a.m."

David doesn't even have to let that sink in.  "Oh yeah, that'd never happen.  You could never start your partying at 2:00 a.m."

"Well, not unless it was on a Saturday night and I had several naps during the day beforehand.  Plus, I don't have a good topless Galadriel costume on hand."

Bring It...

"Two piece or one piece?"

"Are you going to need to pee at any time during the day?" asks Rissa.

The thought of having to visit a public washroom while attempting to drag down a wet, clingy (to the point of achieving adhesion to my body), one-piece swimsuit, makes me shudder.

"Point taken.  Two piece it is.  I'll wear a cover up."

I wiggle my ass into the - surprisingly-tighter-this-year - crotch of the bottoms.  Once a year swimming offers new corporeal discoveries.  This spring/summer I discovered that my inner thighs had suddenly, expansively.... developed.

I do up the swim top, sqwoosh my breasts into the appropriate cups and then get them somewhat level; my bodacious bits pushed nearly up to my chin, near-to-choking off my air supply.  I turn my back to the mirror to sneak a peek at my rear view...

"Is that my back?!?"  HOLY CRAP!"  I slam it against the wall to hide  from my own gaze and the world at large.

My back now has the articulated appearance of a caterpillar, all rolls and bulges, from where the supporting back band has tightened - enhancing my extra back and armpit boobs.  On a caterpillar, these bulges can be sexy as hell, but in my twisted female eye?  I resemble a swamp troll.

Quelling the immediate urge to weep, I instead repeat my new mantra, "No problems, only solutions."  I grab my multi-coloured, Pucci-esque, cover up and drag it over my person.  "HAH!"  I place one hand on my hip with insouciance, and flash a smile in the mirror.  "Take that, back boobs!"

Welcome to Peri-menopause - your second adolescence.  Strange that we're not as excited about those developments later in life.    We are SO excited about getting those boobs when we hit puberty - we compare cup size, band size - try out different bras - feel all feminine and grown-up.  Why is it that when our 36 Ds morph into 38 DDDs, we aren't all doing a happy dance in the change room of the bra boutique, giving high-fives to the woman who just measured and then manhandled our breasts into the appropriately-sized bra?

"38 DDD!  YEAH!  WHOO-FREAKING-HOO!"  The confetti cannon will then explode with glitter and streamers.

"What do you plan to do with your new breasts, Heather?" the colour commentator will ask.

"Well Sandy, I'm taking them to DISNEYLAND!!!!"

"And your new inner thighs?"

"I'm going old-school Sandy.  I'm bringing back the 'bloomer.'  Let me show you here what I've done.  These used to be a pair of seersucker pajama pants... I've cut them off to mid thigh, you can choose to hem or not, because no one will see them.  I wear these under all my summer skirts and dresses, entirely eliminating inner thigh friction.  I've brought an extra pair for you to try, go ahead and put them on to see how they really work!"

"Wow, Heather, these are amazing!  I have ZERO thigh friction!"

"That's right Sandy.  And if you buy now, folks, you'll get two free pairs of bloomers along with your initial purchase!  Plus I'll throw in a shirt that actually fits you - no muumuus, no XL t-shirts, and NO club wear.

Peri-menopause is a shocker. Our bodies change - in spite of our best intentions.   I exercise every day.  I try to eat healthfully.  I'm doing squats and and lunges and planks and triceps lifts.  And you know what?  I still have extra boobs and newly voluptuous inner thighs.   Am I thrilled about them?  No.  But I'm 46 years old, folks.   Given how long the women live in my family, I probably have at least another 46 years left on this planet.  The thought of complaining about my physical appearance for all that time?  It's exhausting.

So I'm going to do the best that I can.  I'm going to continue to exercise and eat well and I'm going to wear clothes that actually fit me - not the 24 year old version of myself that media outlets tell me I should cling to.  And the next time my husband and daughter say "You look so beautiful!" I'm going to listen to them.  I'm going to accept their compliments graciously, without a grimace.  I'm going to fight back the judgy-judger inside my head, square my shoulders and say "Bring It!"

It's not a tee-tee...

It's a vagina.  Say it with me folks.  VA-GI-NA.  Vagina.  Half the people in the world have them.  You might have your very own.  Check now.   If it's an 'INNY" it's a vagina.  If it's an "OUTY" it's a penis.

That's not to say that, as an adult, I haven't used comic euphimisms to get a cheap laugh.  I frequently do.  My favourite is "hooha."  But as I was never raised with euphemisms, my daughter hasn't been either.  Rissa's known she's had a vagina since she could ask about body parts. 

We didn't baby talk with her.  We didn't ask if she needed to 'tinkle' or 'make poopies.'  Although the phrase, 'Who just tooted?" did have some traction in our house. 

When I was pregnant as a surrogate for another family, Rissa was 4.  We had some very pointed discussions about how babies were made at that time because it was important that she understand the general process of insemination (ie - that I did NOT have sex with the father of the baby), and why we weren't bringing another baby to our home.  In my 2nd trimester I had an ultra sound.  I explained that the ultrasound would tell whether I was having a boy or a girl.  Rissa had a friend 2 years her senior who said, "I know how they'll be able to tell!!  If it's a boy, it'll have short hair, and if it's a girl, it'll have long hair."  Rissa looked at this girl like she was nuts.  With a slight eye roll, Rissa said, "If it has a penis, it'll be a boy, and if it has a vagina, it'll be a girl."

Words have power. A great vocabulary goes hand in hand with great knowledge.  I had a friend whose kindergarten-aged child was reprimanded in school for exclaiming, "My penis is stuck in my zipper!"  "We don't use words like that," the teacher later said when she had the inevitable conversation with the boy's mother.  Why not?  They're body parts.  We don't have euphemisms for other body parts - other than because we aren't all doctors and don't know the proper Latin names.  Femur for most people is 'leg bone.'  Your rotator cuff doesn't get all 'niced up' for everyday conversation.   It isn't called a stretchy joiny bit for arm support.  But if that body part or bodily function has anything to with sexual activity or reproduction - the euphemisms pile up - puritanically clad in 'cleaner' language - lest we give kids knowledge.

Fact:  Women are supposed to bleed once a month from puberty through to their 50's.  It's called menstruation.  They bleed... from their vaginas.  They use pads, tampons or Diva Cups to catch the blood.  The phrase "on the rag" comes from a time when women had to use and then wash rags specifically fashioned to catch menstrual blood.  At this point in human evolution, menstruating should no longer come as a surprise to anyone.

Fact:  Babies are made when sperm from a penis, meet an egg from an ovary.  The fertilized egg then matures inside a uterus.  The baby then exits the female body via the vagina, or in some cases, through the stomach, via a c-section.  The stork does not bring babies.  Pregnant women do not swallow a watermelon seed.  Babies are not made when Mummies and Daddies love each other very much.

Fact:   The Rhythm Method, pulling out, or peeing right after will NOT protect against pregnancy.    You know what protects against pregnancy?  Not having sex.  But since we are all genetically programmed to want sex, the next best thing to protect against unplanned pregnancy is to use condoms, spermicidal foam, a cervical sponge, a diaphragm, an IUD, the patch, the shot or the pill.  Using the first three together, might ruin the mood, but a gal probably won't get pregnant.

Fact:  If a woman wants to be protected, she needs to protect herself.  Those of us with daughters need to make sure they are armed with knowledge, because other than carrying a condom and maybe some duct tape to attach it to his penis, the dude who wants to screw your daughter ain't all that armed - even if he plays "Just the tip."  Yes, it would be wonderful if everyone waited until they found a partner they loved, who respected them and they explored the mysteries of intimacy together.  In spite of my best intentions, I lost my virginity at 16 in the back seat of a Duster.   It's sheer dumb luck that I didn't end up pregnant or with an STD.  You get tingly, you get wet, things feel good -  if the person knows what they're doing, things feel freaking fantastic... You lose your mind a little bit.  You play Russian Roulette.  You  can recommend abstinence all you want, but remember what it was like when you became aware of sex... Remember that?  Remember how great that was?  How great it felt?  How much you wanted to do it?  This is the time to eschew embarrassment.  Have the talk about birth control with your daugthers EARLY. 

And that's why my new boss had to undo my dress in the parking lot...

"Are they going to fit in?"

"I'm trying to make them," says Rissa.

"I swear to you that these breasts were not this large in June."

"I think you might be right."

"What is going on?!?"

"I don't know, Mummy."  Rissa huffs, as she places her knee in my back to gain leverage.  "You can't help at all?"

"Dude!  My right arm might as well be amputated at this point."

"How long will it take for physio to work?"

"I think maybe by 2016 I'll be able to dress myself again."  sigh "It's fitting everywhere else but the boobs, isn't it?"

"Yes.  Blow out all the air in your lungs."

"Maybe... I... shouldn't be..."

"Almost got it...  all... most got it..."  Stay on target... STAY on target...

My boobs are now practically up to my chin.  "This is not natural.  That lady at the bra shop must be right.  It's freaking peri-menopause that's causing this insanity."

"Probably...  There!"  Rissa is triumphant.  "Ta-DAH!!!!  Can you breathe?"

"I'm trying."  I glance at the clock.  "Oh crap!  I'm going to be late!"  I glance at my profile in the entryway mirror.  My breasts are somehow almost up to my chin, and yet, they have morphed into a weird-ass uni-boob under the dress.  "Gotta go baby!  I'll see you before I head to physio."

"No you won't!  I'm heading out to the mall with my peeps!" she yells as I get into the car.

It's not until I arrive at work that I realize I am trapped in the dress.  As my now flattened, yet still bodacious ta-tas tickle my chin, I start to panic a little bit.  I am now channelling my inner debutante -  a bad case of the vapours is seconds away.

"Side zippers.  Only side zippers from now on," I'm muttering to myself as I walk into the office.  I keep my breaths shallow so that I don't displace a rib.

"What's the matter?" one of my co-workers asks.

"Trapped.  I am trapped in this dress.  And my boobs have apparently grown 22 cup sizes since June."

"Pardon?"

"Have I worn this dress this season?  I have, haven't I?  You've seen this before, right?  Oh crap!  Maybe it's the other vintage-y turquoise and green dress that I'm thinking of...  Maybe my boobs aren't on sterioids, maybe it's been a full year since I've worn this dress!  But even so...  if my boobs are this much bigger - shouldn't my ass be the size of Texas?"

Everyone is now looking at me like I'm nuts.

"How did you get into the dress?"

"Rissa managed to do it up.  But I'll never be able to undo it on my own, and I have a physio appt. right after work."  I attempt to reach my right arm up to hold the zipper at the top of my neck...  "Nope!  NOPE!  Sweet merciful... Cut it OFF!  Cut the arm off!"

"What if we rig up a string to the zipper tab and then you can just pull the string at the end of the day?"

"I'm still going to need the other arm to stabilize the zipper.  There's nothing else for it.  One of you is going to have to undress me before I leave the office.  I'll drive home half-dressed and then change before physio."

"Why can't you just have your physiotherapist undress you when you get to your appointment?"

"I am not wearing my best underwear."

The security camera footage in the parking lot should be awesome.

And that folks, is why I chose HIM...

"Just so you know, if they tell me I have to amputate the arm to save my life, I'm not going to fight them."

David doesn't even pause.   "Damned straight, you're not.  That sucker's coming off!"

"For the first little while, until I have a proper prosthetic, I'll have arm proxies.  Like when I have to go shopping, and something needs two arms.  I'll just have to rely upon the kindness of strangers, like say, the really cute stock boys at No Frills."

"You'll be able to use it for sympathy too, at other social settings.  Someone'll ask you, 'Hey can you pass me the salt?'    'No!' sob 'I can't!'    'I'm so sorry, let me get it myself and pay for your dinner as well!' "

"Ooooh!  Ooooh!  When I have to have this arm amputated, you can set me up with a good robotic arm, right?" I ask.

"You betcha.  Articulated fingers - the whole deal.  You'll have the Swiss Army Knife of prosthetics.  Attachments galore!"

"And I'll be all... 'Here let me get that can for you', and then I'll CRUSH that can with my powerful robotic hand.  'Sorry, you mere mortal - you can't do that because you just have a regular arm!' "

"Is this a pop can or a can of diced tomatoes?  Because I can already do that with a pop can."

"Diced tomatoes, of course!  Oh, I'll need a can opener attachment for the arm too."

"Yes."

"And a hook!  I'll definitely need one of those!  You know, for when I want to be fancy."

"Diamond-encrusted?"

"Hell, yeah..."

"You do realize that the x-ray and ultrasound are probably only going to show some tendon damage, right?"

"I want to be prepared.  I'm all about the bright side."

Cat Fanatic.

"Rissa!!! BEST WALK EVER!!!"

"It was?"

"YES!!  One cat on the way there... Three, no wait!  FOUR cats on the way back..."

"Two cats there, Mummy.  You saw two cats on the way over."  We had walked Rissa over to her friend's house.

"I did?"

"Yes,  the long-haired dark grey one and a tabby."

"I can't believe that I forgot the tabby!  You're right, there was that tabby, too!  It must be all the other wildlife that's throwing off my counting."

"All the other wildlife?  What did you see?"  Like any other child raised watching Zoboomafoo, in Rissa's mind I was walking hand-in-paw with a panda bear who, in turn, had a duck-billed platypus riding upon its back, with a couple of cabybaras thrown in on the side.

"Some crazy-ass squirrels, and you remember that basset hound that you and Daddy wouldn't let me veer off course to pet?  Him.  We somehow just managed to walk down that street to come home, I don't know how it happened, it's like I have some sort of freaky furry radar.  But before we got to him, there were three other cats."  I have now morphed into an addict who got an unexpected fix. 

"Three other cats?"

"Yes.  One on the one side, close to the basset hound.  But then there was another one on the other side of the road - kitty corner to the basset hound.  There was one cat on the sidewalk that I went over to talk to, "I was all, hey cat, how you doin?" And then a second cat came from the backyard, rolled onto its back and demanded that I pet its stomach!  Plus, the other day - bunny right on the sidewalk!!"

"Plus a bunny?"

"No, the bunny was the other day, but up until today, that had been my best petting spree because there was the bunny, which didn't let me pet it, but did let me get really close to it, but then there was a cat, plus two other cats who all let me pet them - all on the same block.  It was a magical block.  But then today - BOOM - record broken!  Because on top of the all of those animals - that same long haired dark grey cat was still out and ran over to meet us when we came around the corner!!!  He ran,  from his house, all the way to the corner when he saw me!"  I'm holding my hands out - soaking up the feline spirit into my palms.  Eyes closed, thankful for the gifts I have been given.

"So, you like animals, I guess?" says Rissa's friend, who up until that moment had been standing slack-jawed at my rant.

I run back the soundtrack from the last minute and a half in my head.  Crazy Cat Lady ALL over it.  I shrug, now playing at nonchalance.  "Yeah.  You know.  Whatever."

"So the same dark grey long-hair came to you?" Rissa asks.

"HE TOTALLY DID!!!"

DOWN!! Put the bread down!

When I was younger, I worshipped at the altar of white flour.  My Mom would get these crusty Kaiser rolls - the ones you could select with the fancy tongs in the bakery dept.  I would devour them - butter slathered all over their fluffy insides.  No protein anywhere to be found.  Just bread and butter.  Two, three rolls at a time.  They took me to a happy place; a place where simple carbohydrates were converted to sugar.  Over and over I made this trip.  And pasta?  I could be half way through a plate of spaghetti, already anticipating my second plate.

When I hit puberty I started having dizzy spells.  I was taken to doctors who told my parents that the dizzy spells were brought on by hypoglycemia and that I had to change my diet.  This was in 1982, so mostly what the docs said was that I had to give up foods that converted quickly into sugar.  White bread or anything made with white flour was no longer an option.  Potatoes were discouraged.  Wait a second, potatoes... discouraged?!?  Life seemed over, or it would have been had my diet been truly altered.

Because my hypoglycemia wasn't life-threatening, diet restrictions didn't seem all that important to follow.   I'd never actually passed out - never had a seizure - didn't even flirt with comas - I got just a little bit flaky - or in my case flakier - the consequences didn't seem too dire.  Or at least, that's how I convinced my Mom that I could still eat potatoes.  Because it didn't really get worse, I sailed away into the rosy carbohydrate sunset - oblivious to consequence.

Fast-forward 15 years and a bit. You know when things come back to bite you in the ass?  Well those toothy chickens came home to roost.  I'd have managed, but David, who'd never seen me in the midst of a good sugar crash quickly became horrified and dragged me to the ER.  I saw doctors, dietitians and naturopaths who pointed me to the straight  and narrow.  The doctor said my blood sugars were borderline.  The dietitian reminded me to eat smaller meals more frequently and told me to include whole wheat in my diet - I couldn't just have a microwave dinner at work, I also had to have a whole wheat roll along with it.  The naturopath said to avoid all things wheat - stick to brown rice or quinoa for my grains - Rice crackers, rice cakes for fiber.   Soy milk instead of dairy.  "Should I go gluten-free?"  "YES.  Definitely."

Rice crackers, rice cakes, rice pasta - for years now they've been the vehicle upon which I devour my protein.  Because a lot of people have now leapt onto the gluten-free bandwagon,  not eating wheat is a little easier.  There's a dedicated section of the No Frills filled with high-priced, sawdust-tasting, gluten-free options. Sure, I succumb to the call of the wild Timbit now and again, but mostly I've been towing the line.

Which is why I've been a little confused as to why my blood sugar has suddenly decided to swan dive.  Used to be I could go 3 hours between fuel stops.  Now, at the 2 hour mark, I'm thrown back into graphic reminiscence of first trimester nausea and dizziness.  Upon research - I'm more confused than ever.  Could be hypoglycemia, could be peri-menopause, could be thyroid...  Place your bets!  Place your bets!

As a hypoglycemic of the new Millennium, I've learned that I need to be concerned about the glycemic index and glycemic load of foods.  Anything in the "HIGH" range should be avoided.  Turns out that  the carbohydrates I've been consuming for the last decade or so are some of the WORST things I could be eating for my blood sugar.  And last summer a Naturopath friend found out I was on thyroid medication and freaked out when she saw me drinking soy milk.

"YOU CAN'T HAVE SOY!!"

"I can't??"

"NO!   It will render your thyroid medication ineffective."

"It will?"

"It will."

So the foods that were supposed to help me 15 years ago are now screwing with me?  Not cool advances in dietary restrictions!  NOT COOL!   I go in to talk to my doctor to get a referral to a dietician.

I tell him about the worsening dizziness and the new nausea.  He tells me I don't need to talk to a dietician.

"I can tell you what you need to do.  You need to have three small meals and three snacks."

"I do that."

"You  need to have protein with your carbs and/or avoid all carbs.  Avoid root vegetables..."

"Uhhhh.... what about what the Canada Food guide says?"

"No, carbs are bad.  I rarely eat any carbs..."

"I think maybe I should talk to a..."

"Almonds!  If you feel like your blood sugar's dropping, have a handful of almonds..."

"I do that.  I'm not so much worried about the dizziness... it's dizziness's sidekick, nausea, that's worrying me."

"Why didn't you mention the nausea?"

"I did mention the nausea.  That's why I wanted to talk to a dietician."

"Well if I'd concentrated on the nausea - we wouldn't be going down this path about the dizziness.  This is a waste of time.  I've now wasted my time.  If we're talking about nausea with hunger, that's a different thing.  That's possible stomach tumors."

Always great when your GP threatens you with stomach cancer to shut you up.

I refused to cave.  "Maybe it's best if I talk to a dietician."

"Good eating habits, if you follow them, can deal with all of this.  If you track your food patterns.  There this website that..."

"I track my food patterns."

He's circling his wagons now.  "Make sure you have protein with every snack.  You could do soy..."

Okay, we're back to the protein are we?  "I've been told to avoid soy because of my thyroid medication."

"Told?  Or did you READ about it?"

Ah yes, now I'm the hypochondriac who diagnoses herself over the internet.  Hold your ground, Heather.  "Told.  A licensed naturopath told me.  MAYBE. IT'S. BEST. IF. I. SEE. A. DIETICIAN." You patronizing, unlistening rat bastard... 

My eyebrows raise slightly.  This is ON...

He heaves a resigned sigh and grabs his tape recorder.  "Patient has been  having issues with possible hypoglycemia, worsening dizziness and nausea.  I have spoken to her about eating smaller meals with snacks, tracking her food patterns.  Patient would still like to speak to a dietician..."    He finishes with the tape recorder.  "It'll still probably take several weeks to get a referral."

"I can wait."