First, it’s important to note that I am not a doctor, nor am I an expert on menopause.

I am a just-over-the-hump-of-middle-age, if I live to be over 90, wife and mother.   So while I’m not an expert at anything, I’m actually an expert at everything.  I never know what I’m talking about, yet I’m always right.  I have ESP.  Things I say will happen, do happen, and I’m proud to admit, “I told you so,” is my favorite saying.  I can find anything lost, misplaced or hidden, in seconds flat.  The eyes in the back of my head can detect poor manners at the kitchen table through thousands of dollars worth of hair product, and I can smell a fresh pile of dog poop three floors down, while sleeping, through a closed door, with a Glade Plug In in the room.

I can cook a four-course meal while simultaneously cleaning the house, wrapping holiday gifts and getting glam, and not bat a fake eyelash.

I am superwoman.

I cannot however, stop myself from tearing up when I see a picture of a puppy.   Or a moose.

I’m not sure why a moose chokes me up, but it does, and I bet the next time you happen upon a moose, you’ll get choked up too.

Because menopause is contagious.

This I know for a fact.

The other day while sitting in Starbucks, critiquing all of the women standing in line, because admit it, that’s what women do, including you, I felt a hair tickle my chin, and while brushing it away, I noticed it stuck.  Okay, so it wasn’t actually stuck, more like attached, but the point is, it was there, and it had to go.

It’s not like I haven’t had a random hair growing, at lightning speed, on my chin before, that’s not the issue.

All women have hormonal hair.  It’s not a big deal usually.  Once a month we feel the prickle of a whisker, rub it repeatedly because we either want to force it out, or are in shock that it’s growing out of us, you pick.  Eventually we get to a place, like our bathroom, where we can tweeze it out, star at it and think to ourselves how freaking huge it is and revel in the fact that it was ATTACHED TO OUR FACE.  Once a month, since sometime in our twenties we’ve done that.  Once a month.  Except that I’d just had my hormonal hair a two days before.  So yeah, I was a little freaked.  Two hormonal hairs in one week isn’t the norm and I wanted that thing gone, and quick.

I gently and inconspicuously pulled at the hair, yanking it out in one swift jerk.  Actually, in retrospect, I may have screamed in panic as I grabbed the hair with a finger and a thumb and yanked full throttle.  Either way, that little MF’er was gone.   After examining it and tearing up over the thick, coarse blackness of it, I quickly flicked it into the seat next to me, and tried to pretend the horrific incident was just a bad dream.

My friend happened to come over at that time, and noticing the look of horror on my face, was truly concerned.
“What’s wrong,” asked concerned friend (whom, by the way, I did not criticize in the line because she’s my friend and I only criticize friends when they look like they’ve lost weight).

“I just pulled the biggest freaking black hair out of my chin,” I told her.

“Oh, no biggie. It’s a hormonal hair.  I get them once a month,” she innocently replied.

“I just had one the other day,” I shuddered at the thought, and might have said a little too loudly, too.

Concerned friend tilted her head and looked at me like a confused dog, and then slowly, face ashen, eyes wide, she reached a hand up to her chin.

And felt it.

“Holy shit,” she said.   “I have one too, and I had my period last week.”

Yup, menopause is contagious.

And multiple hormonal hairs are just the beginning.