I went to my doctor this week to get my hormone levels tested. Don’t you know, my progesterone is very low. I am convinced that this is the hormone responsible for working out, keeping the house tidy, and creating delicious gourmet meals. I think it may even have some control over sexual desire attached to it. I should have known something wasn’t right. I was just feeling horizontal lately—as in, I lay down every chance I got, thus no gym, no vacuuming, no exotic dinners… no thoughts of wild times under the sheets.
In addition to my progesterone, my testosterone is also a tad low. My doctor said I needed hormone replacement therapy, but he warned that I may start to grow hair, my voice may get deeper, and my libido may increase with my new hormone routine. I’m hoping I don’t start scratching my groin in public, too. “So you’re telling me that I may get hairy, have a deep voice, and feel amorous?” I laughed. “That is my husband’s worst nightmare.” I laughed harder.
We have been married forty-three years, and we are really pretty good together. We can talk about anything and everything. There are no secrets. Until now. Do I really want to tell him what could happen to me once those hormones kick in? Maybe he won’t notice. No need to scare the poor man away.
I began the hormone replacement therapy.
On the 1st day of hormones, I didn’t feel a change.
On the 2nd day of hormones, I started to feel amorous.
On the 3rd day of hormones, I noticed more hair in my armpits.
On the 4th day, I looked at myself in the mirror, and I heard myself say, “Looking good,
Baby!” in a husky voice. This cannot be happening.
On the 5th day of hormones, I felt the need to tug at my crotch.
On the 6th day, Scott said, “You’re voice is getting deeper than mine.”
On the 7th day of hormones, I bought a set of barbells.
On the 8th day, Scott asked, “Is that a mustache on your face?”
On the 9th day of hormones, I told Scott he was acting like a girl.
On the 10th day, he asked, “Were you staring at me in the shower this morning?”
On the 11th day, Scott woke up with a sunburn. Apparently, I had a hot flash that night.
On the 12th day, we were at a nice restaurant when I asked, “Want to arm wrestle?”
I knew my testosterone was in high gear when I heard myself ask, “Can you teach me to field
strip an M-16 and put it back together blindfolded? I really want to go to the shooting range.”
His response was short and sweet. “I want that doctor’s number and I want it now!” He
called the doctor’s office from the restaurant. He told them it was an emergency!
I told you he’s acting like a girl
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