LOVE ME, LOVE MY FLANNELS…
I can safely say that over the years, I’ve read hundreds of articles about what it takes to keep the spark in a relationship. “Vogue,” “Redbook,” Cosmopolitan…” they have all jumped on the, “Do this or you’ll lose your mate,” bandwagon. Even Howard Stern has made comments about how women should do this or wear that to keep their men.
When I was living in the city back in the day, Los Angeles radio personality Tom Leykis, the ultimate male chauvinist, also reiterated the do’s and don’ts of what men want in and out of the bedroom during several of his drive-time radio shows.
I, for one, have never put much effort into dressing pretty for bedtime or when lounging around the house. And you know what? The older I get and the more hot flashes I experience, dressing up regularly in leather and lace to seduce a man has become less and less appealing and will never make it onto my bucket list.
The stuff that lingerie is made of is not compatible with menopausal moments. In fact, it’s an annoyance. First of all, I’ve never been a fan of thong- type underwear. It’s like walking around with dental floss up your ass. Second, prancing around in synthetic, lacey nonsense just to get a rise out of your man when your boobs are hurting is grounds for…something. Your body’s natural clock is on China time so the boobs can start hurting at a moment’s notice. Because of that, you “might” be getting your period…or not…and the nipples are being rubbed against some flimsy material which feels like someone is rubbing cheesecloth over your chest and, well, forget sex.
If there are men out there married to women in their 50’s and 60’s and they are still expecting their mates to spend lots of money on fancy threads in lieu of comfort, then I’m truly shocked. Lingerie is not the thing to be wearing when a hot flash comes and goes, especially if you live in a cold climate like I do.
That’s why I love my flannel jammies. If I have a hot flash I can go onto the deck until it passes. I will inevitably be cold in a matter of seconds and come back inside but because I’m wearing flannels, my inner core adjusts post haste.
However, in order to make sure I’m not speaking out of line, I asked my husband if it bothered him that I didn’t spend much time prancing around in skimpy sleepware.
“Sweetie, I don’t care if you wear your flannel pj’s…it’s what’s underneath that counts!”
Hold that thought! That man of mine deserves a little skimp!