As luck would have it, I am surrounded by menopausal women in the Kolding Caffe this morning. There are three pairs of them at so many neighboring tables. I am not listening to them, but I cannot but notice that they are whispering to each other every now and then, as well as that they are casting occasional glances at me. Apparently, they all have secrets. Grave secrets, no less. And they are all quite certain that their secrets are of great interest to me. As I am going through the online newspapers on my laptop, I am simply amazed by the menopausal women around me. Secrets are their mainstay. They could not possibly live without them. And they relish every new secret with pleasure bordering on ecstasy. I cannot blame them, though. The one and only reason for their existence has suddenly vanished. Whoosh! Their very existence is in question now that they cannot conceive and give birth any longer. Which adds up to their one and only secret ever.