Several months ago the women of our Havurah, all being of a certain age, decided to get tickets to “Menopause the Musical”, which was going to be in Cincinnati this week. My wife asked me if I wanted to go. I was hesitant, but she convinced me that I would enjoy it because it’s made up of various song parodies and I like song parodies, right? I like pie, but I wouldn’t like cat food pie (I assume), but I didn’t apply that sort of logic then. The play was several months away and I just agreed to go, assuming my buddies, the other havurah guys, might also be going. Our tickets were for last night, Thursday. On Wednesday I read a review of the show which said that ladies of a certain age love it – “bring all your gal pals.” Feeling some trepidation at this point, I suggested to Karen that maybe this show wasn’t for me. I feared being the only man in the audience. “Oh, there will be lots of other husbands there, I’m sure,” she insisted. Sure – then how come none of the other havurah men were going?
To get in the mood for the musical’s theme, we went to a restaurant where each entrée name and description was first engraved on the head of a pin and then reduced before being transferred to the menu. The print was small, is what i'm saying. Those who had bifocals were able to relay to the rest of us (who had forgotten to bring reading glasses) what some of the dishes were. The food was good, but really, the place could be spruced up with a few 100 watt light bulbs and some high-powered magnifying glasses for the old people.
I thought I had mentioned in these pages before (but I can’t find it) how my extended family is 90% women. I grew up around a lot of women, who had all the standard hormones, intuitions and (delightful!) quirks that we associate with women. I have experienced a houseful of women with corresponding monthly visits from Aunt Flo. However, as we entered the theater and settled into our seats, it became obvious that I had voluntarily entered a room with 1200 menopausal women. No worries, though: as Karen had promised, there were plenty of other men – at least 3, possibly as many as 5.
The show was good but, for me, a bit unrelatable. They were not talking to me, they were talking about me. “Men” is the root word of menopause, if you see what I’m saying. Actually, they only ragged on men a little bit. The show was mainly about the effects of menopause, which happens to an exclusive group of humans and I am not a member of their club. I was the white guy at Def Comedy Jam, the Jew at Easter dinner, the Republican on The Daily Show.
Some of the songs were just okay and some were pretty funny, though not as funny to me as to the club members. The actresses performed well. I’d recommend the show to all my friends – who are women. Here's a hot flash: Take your gal pals, not your husbands.
