Hey, boys. You’re gonna wanna skip this one. Why? Because we’re talking about girl stuff. Libido (or lack thereof). Fluctuating body temperatures. And, you know, periods. And emotions. And menopause (and its sister, peri).

Are they gone? Good.

Okay, girls. Let’s get real for a minute. Perimenopause is real. It sucks. And if you’ve hit the latter half of your forties, you’re probably in it. Don’t believe me? Think about it for a sec. Do you get so fucking hot (and not in the sexy way) that you want to peel off every damn piece of clothing you’re wearing for no good reason? Have you ever wondered if you have dementia? Do you even remember what it feels like to actually be horny?

According to the internet, social media, and a whole bunch of books, those are all signs of that fucking bitch, perimenopause (but when it comes to actual doctors, your mileage may vary).

I’ve been dealing it with for more years than I care to count. I’d given up on ever feeling vaguely sexy again. My doctor truly didn’t give a shit. But my sisters on the internet, they did. And they all said the same thing: hormone therapy, baby.

I’m not going to sit here and tell you its right for you. I have no idea. I am not a medical professional. I don’t play one on tv. Heck, I don’t even have a sexy nurse costume (although maybe I should). But after doing a shit ton of research, I found myself a telehealth doctor who would actually listen, and ended up with a prescription for an estrogen patch.

Side note: even if she had told me she wouldn’t prescribe me shit, it would have been worth the cost, just to know someone believed me and I wasn’t insane.

Anyway. A few weeks after I started applying those little patches to my lower abdomen, I started to notice some things. My sleep, it got better. A lot better. I stopped wondering if I was on my way to needing to stay in a memory care facility. And my libido? She reintroduced herself.

She was a little shy at first. She would only peek out after my hubby initiated things. But soon, she got braver. She reminded me that smutty books are actually supposed to turn you on. She’d point at random dudes and wonder what they looked like without their shirts on. And eventually, we sat down and had a talk. It went a little something like this:

Libido: Hey. Hey, Elise. Did you know it’s okay to want sex?

Me: Well, sure, yeah, but I’m busy. I’ve got to go to work, and chauffeur the kid, and, and, wash my hair.

Libido: No. Dude. You need to rip your hubby’s pants off and go for a ride.

Me (blushing): Now? It’s the middle of the day. I have a meeting in 20 minutes.

Libido. Right now. And after you’re done, we need to go find you some hot couples to date.

Me: I don’t know…

Libido: I’m not asking. Go fuck your husband.

She’s pretty pushy. But life’s a whole lot better with her around.

Long story short: if someone wants to take these little estrogen patches from me, they’ll have to pry them from my cold, dead hands. And if you’re even a little bit curious if hormone therapy could help you? You should find yourself a doctor and ask. The worst they can say is no.

And best case scenario? You’ll be back to saying oh hell, yes.