Hot flashes are hell. There, I said it. Sorry if you don’t want it too personal, but right now my life has been seriously disrupted and it’s all due to my hormones. Oh, it doesn’t affect how I work or how I do things with my family.
However, when I am sitting on my sofa and I break a sweat, yet my house feels like a meat locker? Not good. My face was puce in color, clothing stuck to me and I seriously thought I was dying. My husband looked a wee bit confused as I don’t run marathons and while I’m not an Irish Wolfhound, was certainly panting like either one was part of my DNA.
I think he might have gotten a little turned on had I not frightened him with the maniacal look in my eyes and my raspy voice barking “ice water, now”. Maybe I should have thrown in “maggot” for that something special. It would make it much more drill sargentish. Plus, he likes Clint Eastwood and I kinda sorta sound like him now.
But, being the overheated, under-cooled drama queen I am turning into, he bought me what has to be the best gift ever. Well, at least in my peri-menopausal, PCOS inhabited life.
A new fan.
While I’m not super materialistic, I think I am in love with this inanimate object. It stands phallus-like in the corner of my living room….if you could find a 4ft tall penis that salutes you with a cool breeze and eight different settings.
Did I mention the remote control?
So, while diamonds might be most girls best friends, tonight mine is a fan made by Honeywell. It will cool me when I need cooling and after the next hot flash has subsided, I can just turn my little friend off and give it a break from the torturous task I have given in.
Unlike my husband, who gloats after taking out the garbage… once…