Show Your Support for Martha!

It’s Not Always a Good Thing
by D. Gustafson
Illustration by D. Adams

The doctor had just given me a prescription for estrogen.  There it was, menopause had reared its ugly little head.

As everyone knows, there’s a right way and a wrong way to do things.  I like to do things the right way, so who better to look to for menopausal advice and etiquette, than Martha Stewart?

Miss Martha taught me how to fold napkins, make keepsake greeting cards, and how to organize my refrigerator by color and expiration date, so why not how to manage menopause, in an elegant, tasteful way?

“Welcome to ‘Martha’s One Stop Menopause Shop’.  Please do come in.”

I entered, full of hope, in the knowledge that my guru, my guiding light, would help me in my time of need.

“No, no, please remove your shoes.  You can leave them on the lovely boot rack to your right.  I fashioned it from found objects, and the dried, bleached bones of my recently departed, and much loved cat, Whiskers.  If you’re interested, the instructions can be found in the November, 2002 issue of ‘Martha Stewart Living’.”

“That’s right.  Place them upside down…good.  Now wrap the grosgrain ribbon around Whisker’s molar.  Here, let me tie the bow for you.”

Ceremoniously, she handed me a pair of soft, fuzzy slippers to wear.

“Wasn’t Whiskers soft?” she purred. 

How charming and helpful she is.  I slid my feet into the amazingly soft slippers, and looked around.  Antique bowls, mismatched, but somehow still coordinating, were filled with green and orange M&M’s, and others with fragrant potpourri. The woman thought of everything.

“Now, tell me, which symptoms seem to be the most bothersome?” she asked.

“Well”, I began, “the hot fl…”

Before I could finish, Martha said, “I thought so.  I see those pesky stains around your collar.  Let’s sit here at my antique partner’s desk, and we’ll fashion a fabulous personal cooling system for you.”  With that, she opened a drawer filled with balloons.  Needless to say, they were arranged by size and color.  She pulled out a long thin blue one.

“I learned this from a Colombian friend.  Simply fill the balloon with one and seven eighths cup of cold water, bottled, of course. Perrier is my favorite.  Tie a single knot in each end of the balloon.  Cut two pieces of antique lace, exactly nine and fourteen sixteenths in length, and affix a piece of lace to each end, taking care to cover the unsightly knot.  Place the balloon at the back of your waist; and tie the lace in the front.  Voila!”

“Is there no end to her talent?” I thought, as I tied the perfect bow at the front of my waist.

“I’ll bet you have mood swings, don’t you?”

I blushed and looked at the floor.  I had always been a level headed person, but lately, I don’t know…I had a fit of giggles at Aunt June’s funeral, and found myself crying uncontrollably at “The Worlds Funniest Home Videos”. 

“I have just the thing.  The gentle fragrance of a chamomile and rose hip sachet will calm you, naturally. Why you can even give them as cherished holiday gifts.  Let’s create a festive Christmas sachet. Use ‘Martha’s Extra Large Gingerbread Boy Cookie Cutter’, available from my catalog and website.  Carefully trace the shape onto two pieces of silk, with tailor’s chalk.  Go ahead, you try.”

With trembling fingers I traced the shape.  Oh, how I wanted to make her proud.

“Care for a cookie?” she asked, offering a milky green plate, piled high with large poppy seed cookies, topped with green and orange M&M’s.

I took the proffered cookie.  “Ummm, yummy”, I thought, noticing the black writing on each “M&M”.

Martha smiled, and appeared pleased, “You noticed.  Those cookies are my pride and joy.  It’s an old family recipe, with a twist.  They’re my “Poppy Seed Premarin Pick-me-ups”.

Grabbing a handful of green and orange Premarin from the nearest bowl, Martha popped them in her mouth and continued, “Now let’s get back to our silky potpourri packets, shall we?  Carefully sew the two silk pieces together, leaving an opening on one side.” 

She cocked her head jauntily, “Of course, contrasting silk thread is a must.”

I whip stitched the fabric together, leaving just enough room to insert the potpourri.

“That’s perfect” Martha continued, her face becoming flushed, as she opened a lovely decoupage box, filling the air with the fragrance of her special potpourri. 

She inserted a small funnel into the fabric opening, lest any of the precious mixture escape, and carefully began filling it.  She gently worked the potpourri into each nook and cranny.

Her right eye began to twitch, ever so slightly, as she noticed an errant thread.  “Oh no, this will never do”, she said, reaching for her antique thread clippers, “it looks shabby.”

Her eye twitched even faster, her face reddening to an alarming hue.  The Premarin must have been taking effect.  “I hate shabby.  Shabby is not chic.” She growled.

Martha began stuffing the silk with purpose, fashioning the gingerbread shape into a woman, a buxom woman.

“To make an enchanting keepsake heirloom, a bit of raffia hot glued to the head, makes a lovely, over processed, bleached blonde, hairdo”, she sneered.  She ran her hands through her own hair, giving herself an unkempt look.  The hot glue dripped, unnoticed, onto her impeccably clean shirt.  Potpourri stuck to the glue.  She began to take on the look of one possessed.

I watched in astonishment as Martha, eyes wild, spittle collecting in the corner of her mouth, picked up the doll and began stabbing pins into it, pearl headed pins of course.  “Take that, Rachel Ashwell, you shabby bitch.  Take that, and that, and that.” 

I slowly backed towards the door, slipped off my “Whiskers” slippers, grabbed my shoes and left.  Before getting into my car, I risked one last glance backward. 

Martha was still sitting at her antique partner’s desk, disheveled, potpourri glued to her shirt.  A widening dark spot was visible on her pants.  In her stabbing frenzy she must have punctured her personal cooling system. 

I reached into my purse, crumbled the doctor’s prescription, and let it fall to the ground.