Ladies, if you have yet to experience the natural wonder that is the hot flash, let me tell you about it.
- You are woken from a dead sleep certain that you are, in fact, on fire.
- You throw off the blankets. Doesn’t help. You peel your sweat drenched clothing off and pitch it across the room. It sticks to the wall. You are still burning up.
- You lay there, panting, while you produce gallons of underboob sweat that runs off and soaks the sheets. Also, the dogs are interested and try to lick it off.
- Sensing your acute distress, your husband wakes, and in tones of deepest concern, asks, “What the hell is wrong with YOU?”
- You explain. He tells you he knows how bad that sucks, because it’s happened to him. You want nothing more than to take a swing at him, but you are too weak from fluid loss. Instead, you glare at him silently.
- “What?” he says.
- You get out of bed and go stand naked in front of the freezer (thank goodness for French doors). The radiant heat begins to melt everything.
- The dogs are now VERY interested. Every sound behind you is surely a child getting up for a drink. So now you’ve got something ELSE to freak out about! Yaay!
- You give up on the freezer, and go sit in the living room. Perhaps a little American Pickers will help take your mind off it. You adhere to the chair.
- Wait. What’s this? You are starting to cool down! The boob and neck sweat is going away! Oh, thank god, that was absolutely terrible. You feel SO much better.
- Now you’re freezing. Shit.
Needless to say, I did not sleep well last night. I am also thinking about purchasing a waterbed so I can fill it with ice.