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.

Me:      Mom!

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?

Words too Difficult to Utter

Me:      Mom!

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.