Do You Keep Your Vulnerabilities To Yourself?

If you openly admit that it’s impossible for you to get through a day without a glass (or three or four) of wine, do you think everyone will suspect you’re an alcoholic?

If you tell your boss that you don’t understand her instructions about executing a project, do you suppose she’ll think you’re stupid?

If you acknowledge to your sister that your husband often flies off the handle and slaps you, but you don’t react, do you expect she’ll tell you to leave him immediately?

Why do many of us think that the act of admitting we feel defenseless makes us look weak, when, in fact, it can be a sign of strength?

If you seek advice and guidance from a friend, a therapist, your husband—rather than letting a problem eat at you and possibly destroy your sense of wellbeing—aren’t you actually respecting yourself? I say it’s smarter to solve a problem than to pretend it doesn’t exist , or to anxiously mull it over and over, with no resolution in sight.

When I first went to a psychiatrist, at 17, my parents didn’t tell a soul. My father and I would surreptitiously leave the house when my mother was playing mahjong with her friends. I wonder where the ladies thought my dad and I were going at 8 PM on a Tuesday night. My parents couldn’t have the neighbors think they had a crazy daughter. How did that make them look?

Thank goodness, many more people today seek help, whether from therapists, their church, support groups like AA, their family or their friends. Yes, help often fails. It’s consistently reported, for example, that over 85 percent of those who go through drug or alcohol rehab fail and return to their addictions. But, without help, where would the 15 percent be?

Even when our vulnerabilities involve issues other than drugs or alcohol, say intense insecurity about our relationships or career, there’s really no shame in discussing it. I know someone who privately thinks he’s a failure because his girlfriend earns a great deal more than he does, and he’s developed a bitter attitude about almost everything and towards almost everyone. If only he’d recognize that his feelings of defeat have nothing to do with his girlfriend’s earnings and try to move on. His girlfriend, in the meantime, constantly coddles him because she can’t stand to see him depressed.

This begs the questions: What is our role when we see someone we love being consumed
by his or her own vulnerability?

Do we start by quietly offering advice? Do we stage an intervention? Do we walk away from her because she is harming, not only herself, but her friends and family? Do we ignore it completely?

When I heard about the death of Robin Williams, I couldn’t help but ask myself why those physically and emotionally closest to him—his wife and manager, for example—couldn’t see impending disaster. And, if they did, why did they leave him alone for even a minute? But I know these questions are naïve. Although Robin Williams admitted his vulnerabilities, for years, to millions of us, and sought treatment on more than one occasion, his brilliant, crazy, funny, distracted mind apparently spun completely out of whack. The only way he could control it was to permanently turn it off. No one could stop him.

“I feel sexy, oh so sexy, that the city should give me its key!”

I felt sexy for the very first time in the spring of 1965, when I was 18.

I had dropped out of Syracuse University, mid freshman year, and was working at a $65-a-week clerical job for a lingerie manufacturer in Manhattan. I’d been accepted into NYU for the fall semester.

My boss introduced me to her nephew, Vinnie, an NYU sophomore, and I fell for him immediately. Vinnie drove a motorcycle (fast), lived in an apartment downtown, near the university, and was a cool guy (this was the 60s; it was in to be cool). Anything but cool, I did have a fun personality. Mamma Mia! Vinnie found me attractive, and we’d make out in his favorite hangout, a dimly lit, seedy bar near NYU’s pseudo campus of Greenwich Village streets.

Vinnie took me on wild motorcycle rides, when I excitedly clutched him around his hard, muscled torso; invited me to parties at his apartment, and introduced me to his friends. “Good girls” in the mid-60s didn’t have sex before marriage (I don’t think I knew what sex was), but Vinnie elicited tingly new reactions in me, and I began to feel alluring.

Nothing ever came of me and Vinnie. Although I dated during my first two years at NYU, no one turned me on like he did, until I met blonde, blue-eyed, lanky Barry C., editor-in-chief of the yearbook. I started hyperventilating whenever I was within 20 feet of him. Four years my senior, Barry had served for two years in Vietnam, before returning to NYU to complete his undergraduate studies. He was the handsomest man I had ever met, and he was smart and worldly.

After hosting a meeting of the yearbook staff at my parents’ house (I was associate editor and my folks were on vacation), Barry hung back and we wound up, undressed, in my single bed. By this time, I had a rough idea what sex entailed, and although Barry begged and cajoled me to capitulate (“we’ll go to the drugstore; you’ll buy an ice cream cone and I’ll buy foam,” he said), it remained no dice for me. But boy, did he make me feel sexy, even though I continued to look anything but. (By the way, I had to ask Barry what purpose foam served.)

Barry graduated and subsequently married Laura, a real beauty.

A few men, with whom I enjoyed extraordinary sex, have made me feel extraordinarily sexy since the Vinnie and Barry days. Now I’m sitting at my laptop and pondering two questions: 1) What makes a woman feel sexy? and 2) Can we still feel sexy when our hormones are no longer making decisions for our brains?

My short answer to question 1: A woman feels sexy when she’s desired, by a man if she’s heterosexual, and by a woman if she’s gay, to be totally clear. I’m not talking about feeling secure, accomplished, happy, or attractive. I mean just plain sexy, as in sexually appealing. It’s a proven fact that women (or men) don’t have to look like Scarlett Johansson or Brad Pitt, Helen Mirren or Pierce Brosnan, to be sexy. Obese, unlovely, insecure, mean, even bad, people can be sexually appealing.

On to question 2:

Unequivocally yes, we can feel sexy when we’re 50, 60, 70 or 80, with one proviso—that we’re desired.

Sex may not be as orgasmic (literally or figuratively) as it once was, and it may take a great deal more effort to get into “the zone,” but we’re not going to be desired, or desire someone else, if we don’t work at it. And even if we can live perfectly well without actually having sex, it’s no fun to live without physical desire of any kind, once we know how wonderful it is. A gentle touch to the arm, a nuzzle to the neck, an embrace, a soft, warm kiss.

So, if you’re always hanging around with one particular guy—your husband or boyfriend—and if a level of desire, that you desire, is missing in your relationship, my suggestion is to figure out how to bring it back.

P.S. Of course, it’s better to have a respectful and supportive relationship, without desire, than an abusive one, with desire, but why not aim for the stars!

I Won’t Let My Changing Body Keep Me Down

The way I see it, we’ve got two clear choices whenever we’re confronted with (icky) changes in our bodies as we age:

A) Approach them head on, with a dose of humor, and deal with them or B) Ignore them and permanently sulk.

I’ve opted for A. When I entered the postmenopausal era, changes to my body came fast and furiously. The once beautiful, curly hair on the top of my head was thinning. Examining my balding scalp, with horror, every time I looked in the mirror, didn’t strike me as something I wanted to do for the rest of my life. Instead, I decided to get a fabulous hairpiece to cover the only thin thing on my body.

My tummy started pooching out. I could shriek every time I passed the full-length mirror, undressed, or I could cut back on the carbs, as well as wear clothes that helped me minimize the pooch, which is exactly what I did.

And, heaven help me, my vagina also was getting pretty dry. I could suffer in silence and tell David I had an ongoing headache or I could actually bring it up at my next visit to the doctor and see if there were any treatments. I did and there were.

As many of you already know, I’ve been part of an alliance for the last year, called GLAM™ (Great Life After Menopause), sponsored by Novo Nordisk, a company that cares very much about women’s health and wellbeing.

GLAM™ is made up of outspoken women, like me, who want to empower women like you (bet you didn’t know that 75 percent of us, postmenopausal, have vaginal dryness?) to talk to your partners, talk to your health care providers, talk to your friends and know that there are therapies to take care of your ED.

Yes, you read it right. I said your ED. The other ED, as in Estrogen Deficiency, the cause of vaginal dryness in the first place. Besides, isn’t it time for the men to stop hogging all the attention with their ED?

And now you can turn to a fun new website, aptly called The Other ED, to learn every single thing you need to know about menopause, estrogen and vaginal changes. Yep, you also read that right. TheOtherED.com makes it really enjoyable to learn about a condition that isn’t especially amusing when you’re experiencing it. The site is smart, it’s great looking and it’s fun. Just like you!

As I said at the top of this blog, you can be woebegone (a cool word, eh?) about the changes in your body. Or you can confront them, with a dose of good cheer. Start doing the second, right this minute, on TheOtherED.com. Ladies, you owe it to yourselves!

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The Power of Love When Tragedy Strikes

I heard three things this past weekend that unnerved me, yet again made me understand the power of love in families.

The 38-year-old son of a former colleague died after fighting metastasized colon cancer for almost three years. I never met the young man, Chris Budd, but I worked closely with his father, Mike, who was an executive at Norelco, the company where I was public relations director when I was 26 to 33. I remember Mike as a man of great integrity, patience and understanding. I had lost contact with him but his wife, Linda, and I started playing Words With Friends earlier this year. Although we IM’d a number of times during games, Linda never once brought up her sick son. I didn’t know Linda well, but I remember meeting her when she was pregnant with Chris, and thinking she was a beautiful and classy woman.

It wasn’t until Linda’s posts recently started appearing on my Facebook newsfeed that I learned about the extent of her son’s illness and about the depth of love that surrounded him during his grueling treatment. “Mike and I were very fortunate to have been able to spend the last 10 days with Chris.

“There were many tears, but as many of you know Chris, there was laughter, too. Oh, how we will miss him! Thank you for all your prayers.” Linda touchingly wrote.

(more…)

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Murder, He Wrote

Do you think you’d know—and acknowledge—if your 20-something son or daughter was a drug addict? A potential murderer? A gambler in debt up to his ears? Owned guns?

“Sure,” you say, without hesitation.

I say: “Don’t be so sure!”

A woman I know well (let’s call her Rose) didn’t recognize that her son was addicted to painkillers, and more, until he almost OD’d on heroin and called her frantically because he couldn’t breathe. “Let’s just say I didn’t want to know,” Rose told me.

“I never dreamed I’d be able to close my eyes and mind to my own child with such a big problem, but I could and I did.”

“He didn’t live with me, which made it easier. I never went to his apartment, maybe because I was afraid of what I’d see,” Rose said.

When Rose did go to her son’s place, while he was in rehab, she was greeted by shelves and shelves lined with empty bottles of drugs, like OxyCotin; piles of clothes strewn around every room; ashtrays overflowing with cigarette butts; furniture destroyed by graffiti and other telltale signs that her son was in trouble.

“Thankfully, he has been ‘clean’ for seven years, is married to a wonderful woman, and has a beautiful baby daughter and a good job. He’s one of the lucky ones and I’m a lucky mother that he didn’t die,” Rose said.

I thought of Rose when I saw Elliot Rodger’s parents being interviewed. Elliot went on a shooting rampage a few days ago, in Santa Barbara, CA, killing seven (including himself) and wounding 13. Elliot’s mother, Li Chin, wasn’t lucky like Rose. She learned the truth much too late. For everyone involved.

The deeply disturbed, 22 year-old left behind a 137-page manifesto, called “My Twisted World: The Story of Elliot Rodger,” which detailed his feelings of intense rejection, by girls and then women: “All of those beautiful girls I’ve desired so much in my life, but can never have because they despise and loathe me, I will destroy. All of those popular people who live hedonistic lives of pleasure, I will destroy, because they never accepted me as one of them. I will kill them all and make them suffer, just as they have made me suffer. It is only fair.”

Elliot had Asperger syndrome, considered to be the mildest and highest functioning end of the Autism spectrum. Difficulty with social interaction is one of the most common symptoms of the illness, as is an inability to understand the intent behind another person’s actions, words and behaviors. If this was the case with Elliot, perhaps he would have thought that a girl “loathed” him, simply because she turned down his invitation to go on a date.

Elliot had been in therapy since he was eight years old, countless news reports revealed, but neither his therapists or his family had notified authorities that they thought he was a danger, that is, until Li Chin recently discovered Elliot’s social media posts about suicide and killing people and called the police. However, they didn’t see anything amiss or alarming when they went to Elliot’s house to investigate and told him to call his mother, when they reassured her that he was okay. (They never actually went inside the house.)

Elliot reportedly told deputies it was a misunderstanding and that he wasn’t going to hurt anyone or himself. He said he was having troubles with his social life. He noted in his manifesto that he worried the police were going to find his weapons and writings. “I would have been thrown in jail, denied of the chance to exact revenge on my enemies. I can’t imagine a hell darker than that,” Elliot wrote.

Why did Rose and Li Chin only wake up to their sons’ severe mental problems at the 12th hour? Is it, as Rose said, the power of denial, especially when a mother is concerned?

Or, do disturbed young people have the ability to successfully—and continuously—hide their addictions and other mental problems. And, is their ability so masterful that it also helps them hide their illnesses (or, at least their plans) from experienced, certified therapists?

You don’t need a PhD in psychology to know that young people who feel deep rejection (either from their parents or their peers) often turn these feelings into anger, both self-loathing and repugnance of others who they perceive are their “enemies.” We’ve been hearing, for example, about more and more young men, like Elliot, who turn against women who reject them. A 16-year-old, Connecticut high school student was stabbed to death, in April, by a classmate after she rejected his invitation to go to the prom.

Although I certainly don’t have the answers to the questions I posed a couple of paragraphs ago, I think it’s our responsibility as parents to try and get a handle on our children’s psyches. I realize this is an especially tall order today, as communication with our children is often limited to texts and emails. We also may be at work when a teenage child comes home from school, and then he or she stays behind closed doors most of the evening. And we’re just too tired to start a dialog.

I imagine there are parents around the country who are getting together to reinforce one another and address issues such as these. If there aren’t, it’s high time to start.

Elliot Rodger’s final You Tube video explaining what he was about to do—and why.

Please let me know your thoughts on this

The Woman Who Wasn’t There

I watched the movie “Her” last weekend
and it unnerved me.

It is one of the most touching movies I’ve seen in my 67 years and it examines relationships like nothing else I’ve ever read or experienced. I know that’s a pretty broad statement, but that’s how it affected me. Written and directed by Spike Jonze, “Her” won an Academy Award for best original screenplay.

Brilliant actor, Joaquin Phoenix, plays Theodore, an introverted, soon-to-be-divorced young man living in L.A. (slightly in the future), who composes (long hand) love letters for those who can’t do it themselves. Although his letters are emotional and romantic, Theodore is himself incapable of properly relating to the emotional needs of a woman.

Instead of pursuing a new relationship following his devastating breakup, he buys a piece of state-of-the-art software and signs up to meet an artificially intelligent OS (operating system). “Her” name is Samantha and she’s been designed to be Theodore’s companion. Scarlett Johansson delivers a powerful vocal performance as the sweet, but body-less, Samantha.

It’s a clever premise: Invent a woman for Theodore who can talk to him, soothe him, humor him, stimulate him (in more ways than one), and “watch” him while he sleeps. Samantha and Theo even double date with Theo’s friends. So what if she “lives” inside his computer and hasn’t an actual body. Those flesh-and-blood women always make life too complicated for Theodore, anyway, as we see flashbacks of his interactions with his wife. Samantha also happens to be a thinking gal, and if Theodore yearns for companionship, she is on a quest for consciousness. But when she thinks out loud with tragic realizations, we’re never certain whether her thoughts are actually coming from “Her” or from a computer program.

If the story seems far fetched and sci-fi like on paper, it surely isn’t on the screen. Theodore falls in love with Samantha (“I wish I could put my arms around you. I wish I could touch you,” he tells her), and I deeply felt his emotional turmoil when he was unable to reach her and frantically hits the keyboard to try and reconnect. Even if “Her” seems to draw a direct connection to our pervasive love affair with technology, Spike Jonze appears to be a strong advocate of real flesh-and-blood relationships and love.

“Her” reminds me a bit of the movie “Ghost.” Is Patrick Swayze really any different than Samantha? Does it matter that he’s a ghost, as long as Demi Moore feels him?

If actions speak louder than words, do feelings speak louder than physical presence? Sure, we want it all, but how often is “all” really possible?

I’ve GOT TO TELL Everyone What I’m Doing RIGHT THIS MINUTE!

Remember when we used to take a vacation? Once we arrived at our destination, we had a dandy ole’ time, and then we returned home. We took lots of pictures and couldn’t wait to pick them up from the photo shop. We’d share them with our family, and maybe show them to a few friends when we’d get together.

Remember when we used to go out to dinner? We’d choose a restaurant, had a delightful meal, great conversation, maybe a cigarette with an after-dinner drink, and then we went home. We might tell a friend or colleague about the restaurant the next day. Then again, we probably didn’t.

Oy vey. Things have changed. Now I see countless Facebook posts showing smiling faces and sights from cities around the world. Muffy and Mickey in front of the Taj Mahal; Shari and Stan on Melrose Avenue in LA; Rhonda and Rufus yukking it up on a boat in Venice.

Not to mention the smiling faces at countless dinners. Louisa and Larry with 5 friends at a pizzeria in South Beach; Simone and Sammy at a French bistro in Atlanta; Mary and Max with their darling kids at a diner in Chicago.

If everyone is having such a dandy ole’ time on vacation, why are they spending any time creating countless posts—every step of the way—to show and tell their thousands of good friends and family members about it?

Surely, they can wait until they return home to regale us with details of their fascinating trip. Do we really need to know that they’re on their way to lunch at Cipriani in Venice, or on a train from Paris to London?

Now a word about the dinners everyone is enjoying. One acquaintance posts endless group photos at dimly lit restaurants. Everyone is idiotically smiling at the camera and the caption on the post says something like: “With my west coast family — at Gary’s Grill @ La Mancha Resort & Spa” (the names have been changed). A lovey-dovey couple looks up from their candlelit dinner to tell us how they’re relishing their time away from their kids.

Enough already, folks! Perhaps your mother, son, cousin or best pal is thrilled to know where you’re eating or exactly what you’re doing at 6:35 pm on Wednesday in Palermo or Atlanta, and although the rest of us are thrilled you’re having a good meal and a nice trip, we really don’t need all the details. At least, send us some interesting tidbit you learned about Turkey or Timbuktu.

Get a life, away from Facebook!

P.S. By the way, you might be questioning why I keep all these restaurant & vacation-goers on my newsfeed, if I find their posts less than thought provoking, motivating or interesting. It’s because I’m fascinated by the social sea changes in our society today and what better place than Facebook to see how people are thinking and acting? Facebook has unleashed some pretty dramatic behaviors, including people’s intense needs to be popular. If she has 500 friends she must be 10 times more popular than I, with my 50 friends. And if I don’t post on Facebook at least three times a day, my 50 friends might think I don’t exist, I will lose them all, and I will disappear into a puff of smoke.

Mick to L’Wren: “Miss You”

There goes Sarah Jessica Parker, strutting down the red carpet at another Hollywood awards event. “Ooh Ahh,” the gawkers mutter.

“Who are you wearing?” a reporter asks Sarah Jessica.

“L’Wren Scott,” she answers.

Ooh Ahh, I think. L’Wren Scott must be on Cloud 9. I know I’ve heard her name before (didn’t Michelle Obama once wear one of her dresses?), but I don’t know much else about her, She’s got to be a hot-shot designer, what with all these “celebs” wearing and lauding her creations, I surmise.

By all appearances, 49-year-old L’Wren had it all: A former model (standing 6’3”), celebrity stylist and costume designer, she worked with renowned photographers, singers, and actors, from Helmut Newton and Herb Ritts to Madonna and Elizabeth Taylor. She was romantically involved with the Rolling Stones’ Mick Jagger since 2001. She launched her first clothing line in 2006 and handbag collection in 2011.

We all know appearances can be deceiving. And in the vacuous world of “high fashion,” where fantasy often does a superb job of masking the facts, appearances count for a great deal. Until they don’t. Unfortunately, L’Wren’s seeming success had no bearing on the facts: Her company was $6 million in debt; she reportedly refused to ask boyfriend, Mick, for financial help, and she was haunted by her situation. So haunted, she hung herself in her Manhattan apartment earlier this week.

“She wanted so badly for things to be a success. Whereas she got her outfits on a number of high profile people, the clothes were not a commercial hit and didn’t fly off the shelves. It was a huge burden on her and she didn’t want to fail,” a spokesman said for an article in a London newspaper.

“There was a delight to her that is hard to imagine extinguished,” Sarah Jessica Parker said, after receiving news of her death. “She didn’t reveal another side to me, but, of course, we are all complex as human beings and I wouldn’t have claimed to be privy to that other part of late.”

A few months from her 50th birthday, L’Wren’s act of suicide, like any suicide, unnerves me. I can imagine the extreme anxiety she must have felt, but what propelled her from distress to despair?

Life can be pretty brutal, even for
the happiest people, although I can’t imagine how things could get so bleak that you’d want to kill yourself.

I only know my own life. I doubt L’Wren made her decision on a whim, so things must have been a lot bleaker for her than anything I’ve ever experienced.

Yes, appearances are, indeed, deceiving. We might envy a woman for her connection to one of the most talented, famous men in the world, but we learn her relationship was as shrouded in fantasy as her business. Seeking financial or emotional help from her successful boyfriend apparently wasn’t an option. We might believe a woman basks in her friendships with the rich and the famous, but we learn that her fear of failure prevented her from being her own best friend. It just goes to show that you can never quantify someone else’s happiness or success. That’s something only they can do.

Please tell me your thoughts on L’Wren’s suicide

Who Is Your CC Bloom?

In one of the episodes of the successful TV sitcom, Two and A Half Men, playboy Charlie Harper (played by actual playboy, Charlie Sheen) “attends” his own funeral. Many of his former girlfriends file into the pews for the joy of heckling the deceased jingle writer for his philandering ways and to celebrate his demise. Even Charlie’s mother and brother have little good to say about him.

In Beaches, the popular 1988 tearjerker, CC Bloom (brilliantly portrayed by Bette Midler) learns that her childhood friend, Hillary (played by Barbara Hershey), is dying. CC puts her career and life on hold to comfort Hillary in her final months.

Of course, none of us wants to be like Charlie. But who among us doesn’t hope to have at least one CC Bloom in our life, a close friend or relative who would stop everything to be with us until the very end? And don’t we like to think we’d be a CC to someone dear to us?

It distresses me when I see others rushing out to visit relatives, former friends or acquaintances whom they haven’t seen in years, just because they are terminally ill. I’ll also never understand anyone who must show up at funerals, to “pay their respects,” especially because they didn’t respect the deceased when they were very much alive.

Why do death, sickness, and other unfortunate circumstances, turn some people into our best friends
and closest relatives?

Do they suddenly become kind because they’re relieved they aren’t sick… or dead? Are they guilty that they haven’t been in touch and wish to redeem themselves? Do they genuinely believe that their ostensibly kind gestures and mere presence will show them off in a good light?

Give of yourself and your time with those you love, when you’re all alive and healthy. That’s when you really score points! On the other hand, if you didn’t like someone enough to connect with them in decades, you won’t get extra credit for making a cameo appearance near the end.

Dear mom….

Bravo to the Fab Over Fifty women whose daughters appreciate just how fab they are.

“My Mom went to Paris for the first time in her life at 60… and by herself!  She said she didn’t have any more time left to wait for someone to take her,” wrote Nan from LA, when she signed up for faboverfifty.com.

“My mom is fab over sixty.  She’s beautiful, loving, full of energy, curious, likes to explore new things. Even though she’s a psychoanalyst, she’s trying to become a good photographer– and is in love with her new grandson,” wrote Carolina from New Haven, CT.

Brittany and her red hot mamma

Brittany and her red-hot mamma Debi, who has been a special education teacher for 25 years

And Brittany from Lexington, KY,  said, “My mother just turned 50.  She is such an encouragement to me in everything she does. She recently completed her second master’s degree to continue moving up in her field…while being a single mother. Anyone who can accomplish as much as she can is definitely considered Fab Over Fifty!”

Joanna with mom Jean and brother Nick
Joanna with mom Jean and brother Nick

Ever since yesterday afternoon, when Joanna Goddard Williams wrote about faboverfifty.com in her wildly popular blog, A Cup of Jo, we’ve been getting inspiring messages from women around the world about their moms.  Joanna’s mom, Jean, is pretty amazing herself.  I can personally attest to that.  But here’s what our darling Jo has to say about her: “My mom is amazing. She has taught my brother, sister and me, from a very young age, to always be ‘authentic.’ (It’s easily her favorite word!) She tells us to have confidence and encourages us to be straightforward with people (friends, family, boyfriends, bosses, strangers). Even if we are telling them something that makes us feel vulnerable or dorky, she says, if we shoot from the hip, no one can fault us because we are being authentic, and that is always relatable and true. I think that striving for authenticity is a lovely (and surprisingly powerful) way to approach life.

“Aside from that, she also watches Pride & Prejudice on the treadmill (which I find hilarious), cooks a mean Beef Burgundy, is known by everyone as a great listener, and makes a wonderful shopping/travel/life partner!”

faboverfifty.com will be dedicated to the moms, the aunts, the sisters, the daughters, the wives and the friends who are unequivocally the best generation of women in all of history.