Me: I have never been a procrastinator, nor have I struggled with a writing assignment. But, buckling down and drafting my commentary for my National Boards is exhausting me.
Mom: Well, you are middle-aged now.
Me: That is the meanest thing you’ve ever said.
Mom: It’s true. When you’re in your forties, things start to slow down. You need more rest. It’s harder to think clearly.
Mom: (like the mother in the dinner scene in St. Elmo’s Fire who whispered “cancer” and “prison”) We haven’t talked about this yet, but have you started the change?
Mom: Your Aunt Barbara and I just thought some ladies were the biggest boobs about it.
Me: Interesting choice of words.
Mom: Oh, Julie. Stop making jokes. Really. Hot flashes aren’t that bad.
Me: Mom! Stop. Please. I’ll let you know when I start the change. In the meantime, let’s never speak of it again.
I hung up feeling like a 12-year-old girl.