Vivian “No Flow” Flores and the Great Drought Down Under
Vivian Flores was a confident woman. Smart, stylish, and spicy. But she had a secret that wasn’t so secret once she started snapping at the aloe aisle in CVS:
Her lady parts were drier than a gluten-free cracker in the Mojave.
That’s right. Meet Vivian “No Flow” Flores — a fearless diva turned accidental sandpaper spokesperson, thanks to menopause’s rudest surprise: vaginal dryness.
An Unsettling Breeze
Vivian awoke feeling like someone had replaced her silk pajamas with a burlap sack.
She shifted. She winced. She grabbed her rose quartz roller and briefly considered using it down there.
“I am too young for this,” she muttered, already Googling “lube that doesn’t feel like swamp water.”
I Know What Will Help…Yoga
Determined to reclaim her flow, Vivian went to yoga.
But halfway through downward dog, she felt like she was folding sandpaper.
The instructor said, “Open your hips to receive.”
Vivian whispered, “My hips are open. But at this point, I am afraid to “receive” anything.”
Let’s Try Coconut Oil
After yoga, Vivian visited Whole Foods and bought enough coconut oil to bathe a small elephant.
When she got home, Vivian slathered the coconut oil. She glistened. She stood like a marinated rotisserie chicken.
Then she slipped on her tile floor and bruised her dignity.
The CVS Meltdown
Vivian wandered the feminine care aisle, talking to herself and the KY Jelly.
“I’m not mad, I’m disappointed.”
A teenager nearby whispered, “She’s having a breakdown.”
She whipped around. “I’m having a dry-down, thank you very much. Just wait until you get to be my age then you’ll understand my snappiness, (or the lack thereof, Vivian thought to herself, since she was once like a snapping turtle down there).”
Cactus Canyon
At work, she requested a desk fan.
Not for her face. Not for hot flashes.
For her cactus canyon.
“I need circulation, not judgment,” she snapped when HR asked why she brought a small leaf blower to her cubicle.
Vivian had a lunch date. Cute guy. Great smile.
Then he said, “You’re glowing.”
She replied, “That’s coconut oil and unfiltered rage.”
He asked if she wanted to go back to his place.
She blinked. “Sir, unless you’ve got a humidifier and a miracle, the answer is no.”
The Moisture Manifesto
Vivian came home, lit a candle, and wrote a letter to her uterus:
“Dear girl, I’ve treated you well. Organic everything. Monthly rituals. Rose-scented steam. This is your thanks? Turning into the Mojave in July? Rude.”
Then she wrote a Yelp review for menopause:
⭐☆☆☆☆ “Would not recommend. Symptoms include invisibility, irritation, and a desert where a rainforest used to be.”
Later that night, Vivian poured a glass of wine, turned on Netflix, and laughed at a stand-up comic making jokes about menopause.
For the first time all day, she didn’t feel alone.
“I may be dry,” she said, “but I’m still dangerous.”
Has the great drought come for you too?
Have you stocked up on every lotion known to womankind? Tried to meditate the moisture back into your life? Snapped at a teenager for breathing near the lube aisle?
Tell us your tale. Share your sandpaper saga.
Because here at Menopause Mega Mayhem, we’re not afraid to talk about the dry stuff. And if we’re going to suffer, we’re going to laugh while doing it.
Moisturize. Mobilize. Menopause, weaponized.