One of the young men was particularly loud and sloppy. I was already in the elevator when the doors opened and about 10 young men -- all in their twenties and not exactly what you'd call sober -- got on. Even if you look great. I saw a t-shirt once that read, "I'd rather be 40 than pregnant" and that basically sums it up. Third, I'm happy to be in this phase of life. Most of us, even as we age, still feel young. Luckily, the doors opened at that moment and, with an eye roll and a smirk, I pushed my way out. In other words, how did it make me feel that his friend was asking where the ladies were while I, obviously a female, stood among them? I'm not saying there aren't things I wouldn't change, but the end result of being where I am and who I am now is well worth the wrinkles, stretch marks and the bumpy ride. A college professor of mine had a very beautiful, sexy wife I only realize now who was probably no older than 35 but, to my college-aged self, she was ancient. They were old. In the same situation, I hope they'd conduct themselves -- not like the loudmouth guy -- but rather like his friend, who showed surprising sensitivity to an old lay-dee like me. The same follows for the elevator guy and me. I'm old to him and that's just fine. And then, seemingly suddenly, our outsides and insides no longer match, like one of those unexceptional movies in which the personality of a year-old girl invades her mother's body. I think I just felt a tidal wave of collective amens-to-that from the menopausal contingent. They had their overnight bags with them and between their bodies and the luggage, I was pretty much pinned against the back wall.