Who Ordered the Word Salad?

January 9, 2026January 8, 2026 Heather KightLeave a comment

🚩 Brought to you by Red Flag Friday, where the specials are cheap and the apps are questionable.

When I was a kid, Mom sometimes fed us good old Campbell’s Alphabet Soup. The warmth, the comfort, the spelling lesson in the form of noodles. Good stuff – not simply because it was filling and tasted great when accompanied by a peanut butter sandwich. It was good because if we expected alphabet soup, we weren’t surprised to receive “word soup.”

However, when ordering from the dating app menu, there are times when the server brings me something I did not request. Part of the process is to send messages to people you want to know. Unfortunately, there are those who obviously didn’t read the not-so-fine print (a.k.a.: my profile) and want to order off-menu. Or perhaps, make enough changes to the dish that the chef throws her hands in the air and claims (in a very cheesy French accent), “I cannot work in such horrible conditions!”

Meet Derrick, a gentleman who swiped right on my profile last week. It was as if I ordered alphabet soup and instead, the waiter brought me a word salad. 🥗

*Please take a breath at some point in this sentence.*

Let’s translate this from Dating App Word Salad into plain English:

“I want someone I can trust and want to be trusted”
= I have no idea how trust is built, but I’d like it delivered immediately.
“Someone I can love and want to be loved”
= I have discovered the concept of mutual affection. Recently.
“I know where I’m at in life and I hope she do to.”
= Grammar has left the building, but expectations remain high.
“Time waits on noone”
= I will rush intimacy while claiming I’m not playing mind games.
“I want a natural woman without all the makeup.”
= I enjoy policing women’s appearances while offering zero commentary on my own.
“Who I go to sleep with is who I wake up with.”
= This sentence did not need to be here. At all. Ever.
“I’m not Denzel but I’m not Freddie Kruger either.”
= Sir. Those were not the only two options.
“Let’s keep it 100 and be 100.”
= I have reached the end of my motivational poster vocabulary.

Menopause & Malarkey official verdict:

This is not dangerous…
but it is exhausting.

It’s giving:

sincerity without self-awareness
pressure disguised as romance
and a faint whiff of “I will be confused when you have boundaries.”

Also, bonus Red Flag Friday note 🚩:
Any person that says “I’m not looking to play mind games” almost always plays emotional Jenga.

Menopause & Mischief · The Front Porch Swing · The Soft Side of Sass

Woo Hoo – Thank You!

January 7, 2026January 7, 2026 Heather KightLeave a comment

Menopause & Mischief · Red Flags & Walking Punchlines

Why Hide the Eyes?

January 6, 2026January 4, 2026 Heather KightLeave a comment

The Photos Mom Warned You About, Part II

Recently on Menopause & Malarkey … (click the cowboy)

Quite possibly a contender in the Peekaboo Olympics.

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.

Fishing for compliments

🧠 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.

Menopause & Mischief · Red Flags & Walking Punchlines

The Photos Mom Warned You About 🚩

January 5, 2026January 4, 2026 Heather KightLeave a comment

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 🐟

All I can think is, “Teach a man to 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 💪

Yes, we see your biceps.
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 🎩

Was it too bright outside? Did you forget your sunglasses? Have pinkeye?

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 ☠️

The unholy trifecta … bless his heart.

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

Dating After Dignity · Menopause & Mischief · The Front Porch Swing · The Soft Side of Sass

Discernment with a Side of Fatigue

January 3, 2026January 3, 2026 Heather Kight2 Comments

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:

Image of Meg Ryan and Tom Hanks in Sleepless in Seattle, displaying a quote from the film. Source: www.magicalquote.com. — *Source:* *http://www.magicalquote.com*

However, given the virtual rocky road that continuously leads to exhibits for Red Flag Friday, I’m more prone to believe …

Cartoon of two middle-aged women at a café, one with coffee and one with wine, exchanging confused looks and shrugging as question marks appear above their heads. A phone and dessert sit on the table, suggesting a baffling conversation.

“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.

The Front Porch Swing · The Soft Side of Sass

For the Love of Writing

December 31, 2025December 31, 2025 Heather KightLeave a comment

Looking back on 2025, the woman in the mirror isn’t the one who left 2024 behind. Not that there was anything wrong with her: on the contrary, she was a fighter, a survivor managing life one day at a time after loss.

Loss of her mother in 2018
Loss of her husband in 2023
Loss of her father in 2024

With each loss, she said farewell to another piece of her heart. But like many who have gone before, she had no choice but to keep moving forward. Keep working. Keep living. Keep … breathing. There were good days and not-so-good days, and she conquered them all. It wasn’t always pretty and definitely wasn’t easy, but she did it.

Enter 2025: a new year and new adventures. She took an Alaskan cruise for her 55th birthday. She walked more. She laughed more. And much to her delight, she reconnected with an old passion — writing.

It was quite by accident, but oh, the fire was still there, inside and waiting like embers that never quite burned out. A “what if” sparked a deeper processing of grief through storytelling and fantasy, giving permission to feel again.

Like a plot twist we didn’t see coming, she wrapped herself in words and wonder of her own creation. Her heart awoke and her soul burst forth, allowing confusion, pain, heartache, and longing to flow out of her fingertips like tears from her eyes. But not just the hurt! She found hope, confidence, and laughter — so much laughter. Love was waiting in the wings, a soft whisper of, “hey, I’m still here.” She permitted that whisper to be heard.
To explore.
To resonate.

She learned that the capacity to love doesn’t fly away when a spouse exhales in this world and takes his first breath in Heaven. No. When one has loved — has received loved — deeply, greatly, and completely, then she has much more to give.
And that’s not forgetting; it’s forgiving.
That’s not dishonoring; it’s discovering.
That’s not ignoring the past; it’s inviting the future.

As she penned (okay, typed) stories and scenarios, a root began to show its face: guilt in the form of self-doubt and self-deprecation. Our heroine kicked at that root, questioning its motives and exploring its existence. A tug here. A pull there. One final yank exposing the lie that many widows — that this widow — had accepted as gospel:
“It’s wrong to want love again.”

That, my friends, is hogwash.

Having loved like crazy creates a thing of beauty — the capacity to love even more.

Having been loved like crazy creates a spark that says, “I’m alive and I’m allowed.”

Who knew releasing the artist within would release the woman inside?

I, for one, am happy to meet her, take her hand, and boldly march into 2026 smiling, writing, living, and thriving.

Softly lit writer’s desk in front of a glowing fireplace, with warm amber and blue flames reflecting off glass stones. A blank notebook and pen rest on the wooden surface, creating a cozy, introspective atmosphere that suggests creativity, reflection, and emotional warmth. — My muse feels like home.

Happy New Year from Menopause & Malarkey! Let’s jump in together, shall we?

Dating After Dignity · Menopause & Mischief · Red Flags & Walking Punchlines

🚩 Red Flag Friday: The Department of “Government”

December 26, 2025 Heather KightLeave a comment

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.

Side-by-side illustration of an online dating red flag. One side shows a charming, well-dressed man reading The Grapes of Wrath with a glass of wine by a cozy fireplace. The other side reveals the same man as a hoodie-wearing scammer juggling a phone, laptop, and cash. Caption contrasts “What he wants you to think” versus “But in reality.” — *Red Flag Friday reminder: nice photos don’t equal nice intentions.*

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.

Graphic with white text on a charcoal background reading, “Bless him, block him, and move on.” Menopause & Malarkey watermark in the corner.

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. 😏🚩

Menopause & Mischief · The Front Porch Swing · The Soft Side of Sass

Christmas Eve Chaos

December 25, 2025 Heather Kight2 Comments

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!”

Cartoon-style illustration of a woman locked out of a cabin on Christmas Eve, staring at her phone while her two small dogs, Phoebe and Maggie, stand beside her in the snow near luggage and wrapped gifts. — Christmas Eve plans: cabin in the mountains.
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.

Photo of two small dogs, Maggie and Phoebe, sitting close together and looking up attentively at their owner, their faces expectant and expressive. — *“Please, Mum, might we have some more?”*

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!

Cartoon-style illustration of a woman wearing a Christmas sweater, smiling while holding her two small dogs, Maggie and Phoebe, in a cozy holiday living room with a decorated Christmas tree and fireplace. — *And from Heather, Maggie, and Phoebe, too!*

Menopause & Mischief · Red Flags & Walking Punchlines

Red Flag Friday Presents: A License to Chill

December 19, 2025December 18, 2025 Heather KightLeave a comment

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.

A dramatic black-and-white, film noir–style portrait of a middle-aged man in a tuxedo, staring intensely into the camera under low lighting. The image evokes classic crime drama and mystery, with a moody, ominous tone. — *If your profile makes me wonder whether my body would be discovered by hikers or fishermen… that’s a no.*

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. 🍸

Menopause & Mischief · Red Flags & Walking Punchlines

Meanwhile, Back in Reality

November 26, 2025November 26, 2025 Heather KightLeave a comment

MENOPAUSE & MALARKEY PRESENTS:

“Meanwhile, Back in Reality…”

A Study in False Advertising

Tell me why Facebook is out here asking:

“Are you 50+ and looking to find a man?”

*It’s like the Stepford Wives of Silver Foxes!*

…then presenting me with a lineup that looks like a casting couch for:

The Latest James Bond Sequel
The Brawny Paper Towel Guy
The “Intimately Beckham” Cologne Ads

Let’s analyze this Bait & Switch.

Age 50–58 👨🏻‍🦱

Looks like he makes $300K a year building custom log cabins with nothing but a hatchet and a heart of gold.
REALITY CHECK:
My matches are men who wear Viking masks and brag about being STD-free.

Age 59–67 👱🏻‍♂️

Sir looks like he whispers in French, sings like Josh Turner, and restores vintage motorcycles on weekends.
REALITY CHECK:
The actual 59–67 demographic on Facebook Dating posts selfies featuring bathroom sinks, upshots of nostrils, and pillows as backdrops.

Age 68–73 🧓🏻

This man looks like early-retirement perfection: resides in his mountainside cabin beside a lake, tours wineries around the world, and doles affection on his seven grandchildren, who lovingly call him “Pop-Pop.”
REALITY CHECK:
Tell me why the REAL 68–73s message me “Your smile is my new favorite view” at before 5am, coffee, or a simple, “Hello.”

Age 73–85 👴🏻

He looks like he reads novels on his sunlit balcony, knows how to dance the tango, and makes 80 look like the new 50.
REALITY CHECK:
The only 70-somethings I get wear shirts that are sleeveless, have smiles that are toothless, and use photos that are from 1985. (And they definitely don’t look like Sam Elliott or Sean Connery.)

🌟 CONCLUSION

These men are AI-generated delusions meant to lure us into yet another dating site.
They do not exist.
They have never existed.
They are the enigmas known as:

“Senior Silver Foxus Perfectus.”

Meanwhile, Facebook Dating is serving me:

Señor Modelo
Tony who bathes with his dog
Men who take selfies from under their chin
Men who list “mammals” as an interest

TalkNest, don’t play with me.