It started with “Are you there God? It’s Me, Margaret”. It was 6th grade and it was the go-to book for every young female to educate ourselves on what inevitably was going to happen one day, out of the blue, and turn you into a woman. If you got yours first, everyone convened at that spot on the playground meant for serious conversations and was second only to the conversation about bra sizes and secret crushes. It was a little bizarre and a little scary and maybe a little exciting in a weird sort of way. It also brought with it the magic powers to cast a spell over our male counterparts and rule the world! Well, maybe not rule the world, but that thing that happened to us, changed us. Made us more desirable, more emotional and separated us from the boys for good. I can’t imagine not being a woman. I can’t imagine not having the artistic choices in which to paint my nails, paint my face, pony up my full head of hair or cut it all off because it’s time for a change. The makeup industry is a billion-dollar business. I’ve worked in it and I’ve contributed to its bottomless pit in which to throw my hard-earned wages in the endless quest for my youthfulness. Now I’m standing in front of the mirror and I don’t have that monthly visitor anymore and my kids are all grown but my hips haven’t stopped growing. And I wonder if I stopped spending hundreds of dollars a year to color my hair if people would appreciate my grey strands as pearls of wisdom – and if they didn’t maybe I could just color my hair the faux grey that’s all the rage on twenty-somethings. I wonder if I spent a day in the life of my husband if I’d view life as simplistically and have no regrets -- no peripheral vision in a black and white world? Would I eat more and fret less – not worry about my eggs running out and think more about the pleasure of sex…. Every…. Eight…. Seconds.