I woke up this morning with the best hot flash I ever had. This was such a good hot flash that if I smoked, I would’ve reached for a cigarette.
If you get my drift.
Oh. My. God.
Blood seemed to rush all over my body, from everywhere at once, to everywhere at once, setting every inch of me tingling. My puppy Little Tony, who had been sleeping in the crook of my arm, looked up at me in amazement.
I asked him, “Don’t you wish you were a middle-aged woman?”
So let me say a word or two about hot flashes, because the fact is, I’m a big fan.
To back up a minute, it’s amazing that I have yet to discuss hot flashes, because usually, they’re my second or third conversational subject, after hair products and carbohydrates.
I know I’m not alone in this, at least among women. Cross the threshold of any ladies’ room, and all anybody is talking about is their hair, their kids, their weight, and their hot flashes.
Don’t go cranky on me.
I’m not being sexist or saying that women can’t discuss politics, the economy, or the stock market, but that isn’t the stuff we’re talking about in the ladies’ room. A ladies’ room is a girl headquarters, where everybody reapplies eyeliner that doesn’t need reapplying, squeezes back into pantyhose, and continues conversations into the stalls. Nobody cares enough about the stock market to take it into the stalls.
Kids, yes.
Hot flashes, definitely.
Most women I know complain about “flashing,” as the doctors call it, and I used to, before I met Little Tony and began my really annoying crusade of positivity. So this is how I look at hot flashes now:
They’re a godsend.
Observe.
I don’t know about you, but I was cold for approximately the first forty years of my life. In winter, I’d freeze my butt off, and in summer, I hated air-conditioning. I used to fight with everybody over the thermostat, and I never won. I was always the coldest person in the room, and so were all my women friends.
No longer.
Hot flashes are God’s way of compensating women for all the years they spent being cold.
Now, we will be toasty no matter what the weather, and all we have to do is get old. It doesn’t even take any effort or cost anything. All we have to do is keep breathing, and all of us, our gender entire, will be wrapped up in a permanent burrito of thermal pleasure.
It’s like we’ll all have our own Snuggie fleece blanket, as Seen On TV, only we don’t have to walk around looking like monks.
And don’t forget the other advantage of flashing, namely the aforementioned tingling.
Let’s talk turkey.
There are times in life when we have to settle for second best. For example, we would love to have a hamburger, but we settle for the veggie burger. Or we would love to have a gorgeous Chanel purse, but we settle for the look-alike.
So you know where this is going.
Think of a hot flash that way, if you follow.
If it makes you tingle all over, sets your blood pounding, raises your body temperature, and usually happens in bed, wouldn’t you settle for a hot flash?
If it walks like a duck and talks like a duck, why split hairs?
Plus, you can be alone and get a hot flash. You don’t have to marry and divorce anyone. Or worse, share your closet space.
I think it’s all part of God’s divine plan, sending us hot flashes at a time in our lives when the real deal tends to be in shorter supply. Everybody’s sex life diminishes as they get older, and kids and carbohydrates don’t help.
Neither does the stock market.
So I say, look forward to your next hot flash. If you’re lucky, you can have five or six a night.
There’s nothing wrong with multiples.