You can cut the atmosphere with a scalpel as John drives me to Urogynae. ‘Is it what he did?’ He gestures towards my groin.

I shake my head. ‘I’ve told you, just my age, childbirth … lots of women ….’

John’s trying to understand; after all, there are things I could do for him, but I don’t seem too interested any more. I’m his wife. We’re not that old. Somehow when the Kegals stopped working and the lubes became useless—it was something about the pain — the fear of tearing — something about the way John grunted while I tried to ignore my aching wrist — somehow, the words spewed out — exploded out — like vomit you’re trying to hold onto while you careen towards the bathroom.

That’s when I realized, I’d held them in too long — way too long. Now there’s no taking them back. Every Wednesday, I spit out my truth along with mouthfuls of profanities. Cunt is my armour and Bastard my sword. That’s how I share with my group over strong coffee and #MeToo iced biscuits. Together, we snap chocolate dicks in half and chomp them into nothingness.

I’m all polite phrasing and textbook terminology with medics. Formal words that make me cringe. Doctor Sarah sees me squirm and makes gentle quips about lady gardens and dodgy foundations.
She nudges aside flesh which doesn’t want to capitulate and I hold my breath.

‘If things get too difficult, do say. Tension doesn’t help. Sometimes talking makes things easier.’

Just what my therapist said. I believed her.

John was beyond furious that I’d waited forty years to tell him. Forty years I let him believe I’d never been manhandled and bruised like spoiled fruit. It’s easy to forgive him for needing to know everything about the guy. ‘My woman,’ is harder.

At last, we leave the clinic and head for the supermarket. I’ve promised to make steak pie tonight. He’s promised we’ll watch a film and snuggle on the sofa. Just snuggle. I need time; he gets it; we both need time. John curses as a white Volvo snatches the nearest parking spot. “Bastard. I was here first. I was bloody well here first.” He’s not talking about the space. There are plenty more.

Maybe we’ll work this out, maybe we won’t, but right now, I’m thinking about me — right now — my vagina is falling apart.

Heather D. Haigh is a working-class Yorkshire England writer.  https://haigh19c.wixsite.com/heatherbooknook

Yeah. It rhymes. But that’s not the best part. We’re quite self-deprecating when you examine the body of our work. The tricky part is knowing whether to laugh at our jokes or cringe.

Here’s an example; the first of many:

“Name a city that changed your life.”

“Wuhan.”

Get it? Of course you did. I don’t know why I even felt the need to ask.

Much of boomer humor can be found – where else, on Facebook, Instagram and Reddit.

Here’s a typical example:

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Or this:

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Boomers don’t need pictures to get funny. Here’s some of their wordplay (behold the irony):

Behind every successful baby boomer zoom webinar there is an underpaid 24-year-old intern with a 115 wpm typing speed.

Boomer purgatory is the iOS emoji keyboard. Right now there are thousands of them trapped there, unable to send a picture they’ve taken of a computer screen to a person they met at a farmer’s market. 

As I’ve grown older, I’ve learned that pleasing everyone is impossible, but pissing everyone off is a piece of cake.

As I watch this generation try and rewrite our history, I’m sure of one thing: It will be misspelled and have no punctuation.

I haven’t gotten anything done today. I’ve been in the produce department trying to open this stupid plastic bag.

So, you’ve been eating hot dogs and McChickens all your life, but you won’t take the vaccine because you don’t know what’s in it. Are you kidding me?

Coffee was just a dime in my time. Now it’s a whole lecture about beans and brewing.

Respect your parents. They graduated from high school before there was Google.

Well, I think a man who tells people he’s boss in his home will lie about other things too.

What’s the difference between a baby boomer and an avocado? One is a soft, wrinkly vegetable. The other one is an avocado.

I have convinced my grandma that the baby boomers are as dependent on technology as us. When she said ” you millenials are so addicted to technology,” I quickly glanced at her life support. That was the last time she said it.

If I had a dollar every time a baby boomer insulted me, I could afford a house in the economy they ruined.

And this one got to me….seriously:

My mind is like an internet browser. At least 19 open tabs, 3 of them are frozen, and I have no clue where the music is coming from.

See? We can do funny.

Jay Harrison is a writer and creative consultant for DesignConcept. You can also visit his author page here. His newest mystery novel, Rio Puerco Demise is available on Amazon. His first mystery novel, Head Above Water, is also available on Amazon. But that’s not all – you can also purchase the Best of BoomSpeak on Amazon.

 

 

 

We’re finally at the point where everyone starts complaining about the heat. That means the weather is just how I like it.

I’ve lived in famous hot spots, including Southern California, Texas, Alabama, South Carolina and Egypt. The Sacramento area can get pretty toasty, but comparatively, it’s minor league.

However, this is the point where I must modify some of my golf protocols. I experienced heat exhaustion once playing golf in Texas. Heat exhaustion is no joke, so this is my official warning to be smart about hot weather.

My number one tip is when it really gets beastly, do everything in the morning. I hate getting up early these days, but sometimes you’ve got to do it. The good news is you get done early and have time for a nap!

It’s not that bad yet. First thing is to dig the windshield sun shade out of the rubble in the garage and put it in the car. I forgot last Friday, the first real hot day, and wowser, that steering wheel was hot when I finished my round. Also, crack open the windows a tiny bit for air flow.

Cell phones are another issue. I don’t take mine with me when I play because I find phones very annoying on the golf course, but I need to turn it off if I leave it in the car. My phone started to overheat on Friday and went into that mode where it starts shutting down apps.

And then there’s my rig. I have a nice pushcart with a solar umbrella and a cup holder for a big bottle of water. I put a couple more bottles of water in a cooler that straps on. Included in this luxury set-up is a “cool towel” and a battery-operated fan. Oh, and a spray bottle with water. Spray some water on your face and stand in front of the fan — it’s like outdoor air conditioning.

Finally, I need to make sure I actually drink all the water and supplement it with an electrolyte drink. If I’m a little dehydrated, I can get leg cramps at night. A fellow golfer taught me a trick that is quite odd but very effective! Eat a spoonful of yellow mustard. It’s like a miracle.

Donna Pekar is an aging badass (for real) who lives in California and writes Retirement Confidential.