I’m only a little bit into it, but I have decided what the most challenging part of menopause (from the Latin “pauso” and “men,” meaning that men pause when they run into you and try to think of a graceful way to say, “Why, you haven’t aged a bit!”) is:

Most people think you’re cranky because of the fluctuating estrogen levels coursing (or not) through your system. They might even think you’re cranky because it’s just starting to sink in that a) you’re getting older and b) there’s nothing to be done about it and c) any time now, your family’s gonna find a nice, comfy ice floe for you.

But they’d be wrong.

Menopause is making me full of the cranky because I have, after long years of experimentation, finally determined the precise level of crap I’m gonna put up with. And the artificial stimulants I’ve always force-fed my patience, like giving a damn about being popular or getting a date, have ceased to be effective.

You might want to stand back. In my hands, these tweezers are a lethal weapon.