The French Woman And The French Man

Recently I’ve been having a lot of encounters with a new version of me. I think the scientific name of this transformation is pre-menopause. It’s that moment when your estrogen levels diminish, and all your people-pleasing tendencies—of which I have many—go down the drain.

I don’t know if I like the new me. It was so easy to be nice, to say yes, to please.

Now, look at the things I do…

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We were in Amsterdam, in a hotel in the center of town. It was six in the morning, the ungodly hour I wake up at every day. I could hear my husband’s peaceful breath. He was sleeping and I wasn’t going to wake him up— a little bit because I am kind and benevolent, and a lot because I don’t like to talk in the morning.

The room was dark and small and the bathroom was one of these stupid “no doors” concepts where privacy goes—ahem, literally—down the toilet. I knew that any type of noise I made would wake him up, so I did what I rarely do and decided to go down to breakfast before having a shower.

I slipped o…