© 2025 Heather Nicole Kight – Menopause & Malarkey. All rights reserved.
Woo Hoo – Thank You!
Category: Menopause & Mischief
Why Hide the Eyes?
The Photos Mom Warned You About, Part II
Recently on Menopause & Malarkey … (click the cowboy)
When crafting my last post, “The Photos Mom Warned You About,” I considered adding the following PSA on profile pics that purposely hide the peepers. Instead, jump right into this mini post! Enjoy!
👀 Why the Sunglasses / Hat Brim / Shadow Combo?
1. Eye contact requires accountability.
Eyes show:
- sincerity
- warmth
- emotional availability
Hiding them says, “Please admire the accessories and ignore the soul.”
2. It’s a control move.
Covering the eyes creates mystery without earning it.
It’s the visual equivalent of:
“Trust me.”
… with no supporting documentation.
3. It’s insecurity dressed as swagger.
The logic seems to be:
“If you can’t see my eyes, you can’t judge me.”
Sir. It’s not sexy. It’s sus.
4. Dating apps are not witness protection.
You are not hiding from:
- the cartel
- the paparazzi
- your past life as Jason Bourne
You are trying to meet one woman named Karen or Lisa who just wants coffee.
5. The trifecta effect 🚩🚩🚩
When hidden eyes appear alongside:
- The Fish
- The Flex
- The Fedora
It’s not mystery anymore.
It’s avoidance.
🧠 M&M Rule of Thumb:
If I can’t see your eyes,
I assume you’re hiding either:
- your age
- your intentions
- or a personality that only functions after three beers
Final verdict:
Eyes matter.
They’re not optional.
And no amount of reflective lenses will make up for the absence of self-awareness.
© 2025 Heather Nicole Kight – Menopause & Malarkey. All rights reserved.
The Photos Mom Warned You About 🚩
A Menopause & Malarkey Field Guide
The Photos Mom Warned You About
🚩 Dating App Edition
Menopause & Malarkey
Whilst perusing through Match profiles, I landed on one that caught my eye.
Not because he was, as my daughter says, “not ugly.”
Not because his bio was charming. (It consisted of one sentence. That’s it.)
Not because my heart skipped a beat.
It was because if you looked up “The most overused profile pictures men use on the dating apps” in M&M’s Guidebook to Swiping Left — this gentleman would be the poster boy.
The Fish 🐟
I have no clue as to how that relates to dating.
The fish is not the problem.
The grip, the pose, and the “this defines me” energy are.
If your personality requires gills, we are not compatible.
The Flex 💪
No, we do not see your eyes.
Mirror.
Tank top.
Lighting from the underworld.
Sir, I did not ask to attend your workout performance review.
The Fedora 🎩
Ah yes.
The fedora.
Often paired with:
• a bathroom
• a vest
• confidence disproportionate to reality
This hat has seen things. None of them were good decisions.
The Combo Meal Nobody Ordered ☠️
When The Fish, The Flex, and The Fedora appear in the same profile…
That’s not coincidence.
That’s a warning label.
The Real Issue
This isn’t about looks.
It’s about self-awareness.
If every photo screams “Please be impressed,”
I already know I’ll be tired.
M&M Rule
If you wouldn’t send the photo to your daughter,
your sister,
or your mother…
Maybe don’t make it your dating profile.
In Conclusion …
Dating apps are not a costume party.
You do not need props.
Just clarity.
Effort.
And at least one photo in which I can see your eyes.
— Menopause & Malarkey
© 2025 Heather Nicole Kight – Menopause & Malarkey. All rights reserved.
Discernment with a Side of Fatigue
According to Match.com, January 4th is supposed to be their busiest day of the year.
I took the bait and decided to peruse. And peruse. And … sigh. You get the picture.
After receiving a “like” from a spot-on candidate for Red Flag Friday, I cranked up the computer, fully prepared to whip up the latest witty exposé. Then suddenly, I was tired.
Tired of scrolling.
Tired of swiping.
Tired of what feels like a big joke.
Just … tired.
There are times (like tonight) when I swear there are zero acceptable matches anywhere on the internet. Posts and profiles that deserve nothing more than an eye roll somehow pick and pull at my self-esteem. Guys who wear tank tops in bathroom selfies and definitely failed Grammar & Punctuation 101 send me messages and “likes.” But it’s not about those who are attracted to me.
It’s about those who aren’t.
In Metro-Atlanta, there are 6.09 million people. I have no clue how many of those people are online looking for a genuine connection leading to a serious relationship. Seems like the odds should be pretty good.
So why am I being directed to the equivalent of the $5 movie bin at Walmart?
My favorite movie is Sleepless in Seattle from 1993. Tom Hanks and Meg Ryan in their rom-com glory. One quote in particular — the one I’d like to believe — is this:
However, given the virtual rocky road that continuously leads to exhibits for Red Flag Friday, I’m more prone to believe …
“It’s easier to be killed by a terrorist than it is to find a husband over the age of 40!”
That statistic is not true.
That’s right, it’s not true. It only feels true.
— Sleepless in Seattle
Ladies and gents, maybe you’re in the same boat where the rule of metaphorical fishing is catch and release.
Maybe you run headfirst into a wall decorated with red flags, scammers, and a whole lotta “bless his heart.”
And perhaps — like me — you quietly ask, “What’s wrong with me?”
Listen to me …
Close the app.
Take a deep breath.
Exhale slowly.
If you take away one thing from today’s post, let it be this:
There are zero acceptable matches online today.
Which is not the same thing as ever.
The truth is, the internet is crowded with auditions, not partners.
Many profiles read like they were assembled by raccoons with Wi-Fi.
And the cocktail of chemistry, emotional intelligence, self-awareness, and punctuation is… tragically small.
You’re not failing at dating.
You’re outgrowing the nonsense.
I, for one, refuse to settle for nonsense, just okay, or “well … maybe.”
Nor should you.
It’s beyond brave to open our hearts to love after loss.
That courage deserves to be met with honor and respect.
YOU deserve nothing less.
I’ll keep wading through the shallow end of the dating pool — rolling eyes, blessing hearts, and trying not to take those quirky algorithms too seriously or too personally. In spite of the occasional pity party, I am truly grateful that God says, “Not today, Satan” and keeps me from anyone unworthy of all the sass and sweetness that is unapologetically me.
© 2025 Heather Nicole Kight – Menopause & Malarkey. All rights reserved.
🚩 Red Flag Friday: The Department of “Government”
Welcome back to Menopause & Malarkey, where it’s Friday night, dinner’s been eaten and dogs are sleepin’, and once again… the internet has audacity.
Tonight’s specimen arrived wrapped in good looks, thoughtful prompts, and the emotional vocabulary of someone who clearly owns at least one throw pillow.
He laughs at inside jokes.
Believes in loyalty.
Loves deeply.
Builds real connections.
Even listed The Grapes of Wrath as a favorite book.
I paused. I considered. I adjusted my glasses.
Then I saw his employment.
Government.
Just… Government.
Not city, not state, not federal.
Not “I work for the county and complain about meetings.”
Just Government—like a manila folder with secrets inside.
🚩 Flag raised.
But wait—there’s more.
Within moments, I received a message that read (and I paraphrase only slightly):
“Hello Heather, I would love to get to know you better and maybe become friends or more. Please contact me immediately via Gmail or WhatsApp.”
Ah yes.
Ye olde eHarmony-to-WhatsApp migration.
A classic move straight out of the Scammer Starter Kit.
Let’s review the Red Flags, shall we?
🚩 Employment listed as “Government”
🚩 Immediate request to move off the platform
🚩 Email + WhatsApp combo platter
🚩 Phone number typed like a Sudoku puzzle
🚩 Not a single reference to my actual profile
🚩 Polite, generic, emotionally fluent… and entirely hollow
This, my friends, is why the phrase, “Not today, Satan” was invented.
Handsome? Yes.
Convincing? Almost.
Genuine? Absolutely not.
Here’s the thing:
We are not cynical—we are experienced.
We are not bitter—we are efficient.
And we are no longer entertaining men whose profiles read like romance novels but whose intentions collapse under basic scrutiny.
So tonight’s Red Flag Friday reminder is this:
✨ If his employment could not be verified by Google, LinkedIn, or common sense…
✨ If he wants to flee the app faster than a bra at the end of the day 🏆
✨ If his message could have been sent to 47 other women named Heather
—then bless him, block him, and move on.
Because we are not lonely.
We are discerning.
And our BS detectors are fully operational.
Happy Red Flag Friday, ladies and gents. See you next week—same sass, fewer scams. 😏🚩
© 2025 Heather Nicole Kight – Menopause & Malarkey. All rights reserved.
Christmas Eve Chaos
Twas the night before Christmas, and with festive smiles,
We drove to the mountains – all 100 miles.
My gas tank was full. The dogs had been fed.
“Join us in Blue Ridge,” my daughter had said.
“We rented a cabin — twill be so much fun!”
Four dogs, three kids, and room for each one.
So, trunk packed with presents and GPS ready,
The dogs and I traveled along sure and steady.
We got to the cabin — what a delight!
Why not expect everything to be right?
My daughter looked frazzled searching her phone.
“We need the door code,” she let out a moan.
Her husband called VRBO begging for help.
The dogs were barking, and one let a yelp.
The children — all hungry — started to whine.
My bladder was screaming, “No, it’s not fine!”
Reality: locked out, dogs judging me, 220 miles later… back home.
Still counts as an adventure, right? 🎄🤷🏼♀️
The afternoon sunshine started to fade
Into the dark, like the plans we had made.
After an hour that seemed more like two,
“Sadly, there is nothing more we can do.”
The grandkids were angry, and so was I.
My daughter, defeated, wanted to cry.
My son-in-law? Bless the heart of this spouse.
He laughed and said, “How about Waffle House?”
By this time the dogs had marked every tree.
No longer caring, I squatted to pee
Behind a trash can, safely out of view.
Security cameras? Just one or two.
We had to decide — it was getting late.
No decent options provided by fate.
We all hugged good-bye and got in our cars.
We drove back to Georgia beneath the stars.
One hundred miles, and then I was home,
Travel completed and nowhere to roam.
Christmas lasagna was not meant to be.
Instead, a sandwich — dogs staring at me.
Tucked in my bed, I was sleepy and warm,
With Maggie and Phoebe — back to our norm.
My eyelids grew heavy, but not my soul:
There are things in life I cannot control.
I fell asleep with no pain or sorrow.
Christmas morning will be here tomorrow:
Not in a cabin surrounded by trees,
I don’t need fancy; my heart is at ease.
We’ll gather together, the kids and me,
And open the presents under the tree.
We’ll eat Christmas turkey and drink eggnog,
And later enjoy that post-dinner fog.
Laughter will ring through the air like a bell.
Past Christmas stories will make my heart swell.
With love in my heart and kids in my arms,
Holiday magic will sprinkle its charms.
When the day’s over, I’ll slip into bed,
Dogs by my side, pillow under my head.
Stars in the sky will show up and twinkle.
I’m glad I can stay indoors to tinkle. 😁🙃🙈🎄🎁
MERRY CHRISTMAS FROM MENOPAUSE & MALARKEY!
© 2025 Heather Nicole Kight – Menopause & Malarkey. All rights reserved … including the right to have a happy holiday!
Red Flag Friday Presents: A License to Chill
Mind Your Business, Mr. Bond
Every now and then, the apps present a man who seems less like a potential date and more like an audition tape.
Ladies, meet:
“The Man Who Wants You to Say ‘Hi’ — and Nothing Else.”
🎩 The Photos
We’re treated to a three-act visual experience:
- Formal suit, pocket square, intense stare
– James Bond energy
– But like… the villain who gets caught monologuing - Tuxedo at night, harsh lighting
– Not “date night”
– Very much “last known photo before the plot twist” - Car selfie with eyes that say “You noticed me.”
– Sir. I did not ask to be noticed this way.
The Bio (Where Things Take a Turn)
Let’s highlight a few selections from the Gentleman’s Handbook of Red Flags:
“My love language is quality time and physical touch.”
Translation: If you’ve got the time, I’ve got the touch.
“I give awesome hugs and am a great kisser 💋”
I expected to see, “References provided upon request.”
“Let’s not learn everything about one another right now.”
Based on what I’ve read thus far, you’d rather take your lip balm for a test run.
“If you’re just looking for a chat buddy, I’m not the one.”
Oh, honey, you’re not “the one” for so many reasons.
🧳 Occupation:
Professional at: Mind Your Business
In the immortal words of renowned philosopher Charles Brown: “Good grief.”
Final Verdict
This is not James Bond.
This is not the hero.
This is the guy Bond throws off a balcony in Monaco while adjusting his cufflinks.
Carry on, Moneypenny. 🍸
© 2025 Heather Nicole Kight – Menopause & Malarkey. All rights reserved.
Tired Tuesday: The Geographically Challenged
Some nights, the date-iverse is too much to handle.
Scratch that.
MOST nights of seeking a genuine connection via dating apps in 2025 are uninspired.
I have reached the point where I don’t visit the Kmart clearance rack of poor punctuation and shirtless shenanigans unless I receive a notification. (Hmm, wonder if I can assign an ominous tone to it 🤔) But, I digress.
In four days, my subscription to Chapter 2 (a site specifically for widows and widowers) will expire. I shan’t be renewing. Not that I have anything against the site; I’m just, well, tired.
Four days until the finish line.
Still plenty of time for interested suitors to come a-callin’.
So when a message popped up, I took a gander at his profile.
Scott.
Nice-looking Scott.
Normal-message Scott.
Potentially trustworthy Scott.
But… Utah Scott.
For the love of GPS.
My reply was polite.
“Thank you, but 1,600 miles isn’t conducive to building a relationship.”
His response, also cordial, carried the aroma of snowflakes, cocoa, and Hallmark. ❄️☕️💕
“If two hearts connect, no distance is too far.”
Sir. I am 55 years old. Driving down the street to Kroger is too far. 🚗🤷🏼♀️
As humorous as “Men without Maps” can be, the truth is —
It makes me sad. I find myself sitting here contemplating if a long distance friendship could be possible. But then I ask, what if he’s another scammer with a decent grasp of grammar?
That right there — that exact emotional seesaw — is the honest human cost of dating in 2025.
It’s not just frustration.
It’s not just annoyance.
It’s not even the exhaustion of dodging Keith Sweat disciples, and men whose job title is “Boss at Self-Employed.”
It’s the sadness beneath the snark.
That little ache of:
“What if he’s real?”
versus
“What if he’s not?”
Ladies, if you’re rowing in this boat too, listen up:
You’re not soft for thinking it.
You’re not foolish.
You’re not naïve.
You’re human.
You’ve lost real love.
You’ve lived real life.
You know what connection feels like — and how rare it is.
So when someone shows up sounding…
normal,
kind,
respectful,
gentle,
and not shirtless in front of the bathroom mirror …
your heart can’t help but tilt its head a little.
Because part of you wants to believe a good man might still exist — even if he’s 1,600 miles away, even if he’s just a pleasant blip in the algorithmic chaos.
But then?
The reality of dating in 2025 barges in wearing a name tag, shouting:
“SCAMMER! FLUNKED GEOGRAPHY & CARTOGRAPHY! TOO GOOD TO BE TRUE!”
And you’re left in limbo between hope and heartbreak, without ever having met the man.
It’s the quiet sadness of:
“I don’t want to be played. ”
“I don’t want to be disappointed.”
“I don’t want to waste emotional energy.”
“I don’t want to be fooled.”
“But… what if he was just nice?”
It’s the emotional equivalent of standing at the window watching birds —
one might be beautiful,
but at any moment it could squawk, steal your fries, and fly away.
Still…
there’s something tender in you wanting to believe in friendship.
That’s not weakness.
That’s wisdom wearing softness.
That’s a heart with miles on it — but still open enough to feel.
© 2025 Heather Nicole Kight – Menopause & Malarkey. All rights reserved.
🚩Red Flag Friday: The Keith Sweat-ing Glamour Cowboy Edition🤠
Brought to you by Menopause & Malarkey — where the flags are many and the patience is limited.
Ladies… I present to you a man who is:
“Boss at Self-Employed”
(Translation: The boss, the employee, the HR department, and also currently on an unpaid lunch break… indefinitely.)
80 miles away but behaving like we’re all just out here ready to road-trip for romance like it’s 1995.
And — be still my heart — his entire music section is Keith Sweat.
Not a sprinkle.
Not a vibe.
Not a nostalgic “one song on a playlist.”
No, ma’am.
Keith. Sweat. Or. Bust.
This man is out here preparing to beg somebody through a cassette deck.
But wait… the photos.
Ohhh, the photos.
We have:
• The Glamour Cowboy:
A wide-brimmed hat, aviators, and a shirt so bright it’s gotta wear shades.
He’s giving “Line dancing at noon, sermon at three, vibes by Keith Sweat at five.”
• The Close-Up That Didn’t Need to Be a Close-Up:
Half a forehead.
Part of a visor.
A sprinkle of existential dread.
Thank you for this offering.
• The Truck Cab Philosophical Hour:
“Cool drama free cool as a fan”
(Sir… you wrote “cool” twice. And for that reason alone, I have questions.)
And yet — YET — the best part?
He proudly lists Beauty as an interest.
BEAUTY.
Dude, you are Keith-Sweat-ing in a Ford F-150 with an Instagram filter from 2013.
—
Verdict:
🚩🚩🚩MULTIPACK RED FLAGS.
We’re talking Costco-level quantities.
Would I swipe right?
No.
Would I make a meme out of him?
Already did.
Others come with Keith Sweat, a cowboy hat, and a mysterious lack of tax documents.
Choose wisely. 😔🔥
© 2025 Heather Nicole Kight – Menopause & Malarkey. All rights reserved.
⭐ M&M Mini Post: Kudos Where They’re Due
A Rare Moment of Applause in the Dating-App Wilderness
Every now and then, in the endless scroll of shirtless gym bros, filtered-to-oblivion selfies, and men who lead with their Halloween alter ego like it’s a personality trait…
A hero appears.
Today, that man is Rob, 55.
He did something almost no one on Facebook Dating remembers how to do anymore:
He crafted a profile with structure. With restraint. With logic.
Let’s break down the magic:
✅ Photo #1: A normal, friendly, fully clothed human man
Good lighting. Relaxed expression. No sunglasses indoors. No nostril selfie.
A rare and delightful start.
✅ Real-life pics first, costume pic last
This is the hallmark of a gentleman who understands:
> “My Captain Jack Sparrow moment is a bonus, not a warning.”
The pirate photo wasn’t a threat.
It wasn’t his opener.
It was the dessert at the end of the menu — optional, sweet, and mess-free.
✅ A bio that doesn’t read like an obituary
Simple, straightforward, not dripping with desperation or “I’m just a simple man looking for a simple girl.”
Just enough personality to show he’s real.
Not enough to make you run.
⭐ The M&M Verdict
I swiped right.
Not because I’m picking out a dress.
Not because expectations are sky-high.
But because sometimes you have to acknowledge when someone actually did the homework.
Rob, sir, wherever you are… Menopause & Malarkey salutes you. 🫡
Not for perfection.
Not even for chemistry.
But for remembering the golden rule of online dating:
> “Lead with the man.
Save the pirate for last.” 🦜
Menopause & Malarkey 