Ageism - the last acceptable "ism" in America

Yesterday was a particularly difficult day. I had two experiences with men that proved I could no longer play the youthful-and-cute card. First, a motel I'd reviewed poorly refused to let me stay there (I had not torn anything up; my crime was giving them a bad review on TripAdvisor). I am convinced that if I looked like I used to at 34 (see photo) I wouldn't have been forced to find another room at the last minute.

The second egregious assault was a cabbie who, when I told him I wanted to put my bags in the backseat, barked: "I've had enough stress today! I'm outta here!"

I am dead serious.

Now, I was a mess when the cabbie came to pick me up and had several bags with me. I looked, I realized, like what we used to call a "bag lady" before times became more politically correct. Of course, even through my tears and rage, I called the cab company.

"I'll scream at him!" said the manager of the service. "And I'll come pick you up myself." I did appreciate that, but you'd think after how I'd been treated I might have been offered a free ride - nope.

...

As I spoke to my mother last night and recounted both incidents, I realized a harsh reality: life would get tougher, not easier, for a woman on the southside of menopause. As if plummeting estrogen levels, random body hair, rotting teeth, creaky knees, and a double chin aren't enough to depress us, we also have to fight the image the (male) world is seeing: The No Longer Desirable Female.

I am no sociologist, nor a psychiatrist, nor even an anthropologist, but here's my take. Women can never win. Young women are sex objects. Walk into a job interview at 23 and you're not taken seriously. You're sized up head to toe by the prospective male boss. At 26 I got a job on the basis of looks only to have to fend off a grabby boss who thought my elbows were his play thing. When I balked, he fired me the next day for "typing outside the margins".

Yes, did I.

Then the minute we have learned to deal with the sex object thing -- i.e. wear less revealing clothing, pull our hair back, etc. -- we realize we aren't desirable anymore. This throws us for a loop. "Hey! Wait - I'm the cute one! Everyone knows that!" We haven't yet caught up to what our reflection in the mirror shows.

Now, I am exaggerating all of this. As a boyfriend once said, "A beautiful woman is always a beautiful woman." To a large degree that's true, and women who diet and exercise and work on their spiritual growth do age much better than those who don't. But for those of us regular gals who put on the weight associated with menopause -- it's an average of 12 pounds, I read, and for me it was more -- we can't slide by on looks anymore.

The problem with all of this isn't us, though. We are merely doing what comes naturally. When estrogen levels drop, fat restributes in the body, giving women a more "apple" than "pear" shape. I believe this is nature's way of keeping the men, and hence sperm donors, away from the merchandise. The species didn't survive this long by false starts.

Yet, as we are not to blame for the hormonal changes and some of the subsequent weight gain and redistribution, men want to slam the door shut on our other attributes -- intelligence, experience, personality, resourcefulness. How often does one hear about the "little old lady" with cats mocked by those who are paid to make people laugh? Someone needs to throw a bag of cat litter at these idiots.

The bigger issue isn't what one hears, though, so much as what she feels - as I did yesterday. I've been in this body long enough to know the shift. Sure, if I'm in a red dress and wearing stockings I'm still attractive, but I'm not a head-turner. Would I have gotten into that first cab in a red dress? Probably. But isn't that the point - that women, unlike men, are constantly judged by how we look rather than who we are?

Women are responsible for all of you reading this blog. Maureen Dowd wrote a great book once called "Are Men Necessary? When Sexes Collide" based on the premise that one day, all of us could just make our babies at the fertility clinic. Is the problem that men are so insecure about their worth that they have to put us down? Or does seeing us remind them of their own impending deaths?

I honestly think it's the latter. Menopause is a death. It hit me that way when I experienced it far too early after suffering endometriosis. I still cry about it sometimes. But I also have been thankful that in 2016, women live long past "the pause" to create magical, rewarding, even sexy lives (if they want to).

So wise up, men and male employers: the lady who has 30 or 40 years of experience as a journalist or accountant knows more, not less, than the toned 28-year-old sitting across your desk.