You Might Be Hot Flashing If ...

I'm crossing a line. I told myself I wouldn't stoop to journaling about female concerns, especially those that have been discussed at such length that they've become cliché. I dislike clichés and try to avoid them. I also try to avoid subjects about which only a percentage of folks who read my journal will have any appreciation. I like to resonate with the majority.

But that was before. Before what, you ask? Before I had them. I'm talking about hot flashes. This is a subject not to be taken lightly. Hot flashes are serious business. Which makes it all the more important to learn to laugh at them, in my opinion. So, with apologies to one of my favorite comedians, Mr. Jeff Foxworthy, here are my thoughts on how to recognize if you're experiencing that hormonal phenomenon known as the Hot Flash.

You Might Be Hot Flashing If...

... you used to complain that your husband stole the covers during the night, but now you fling them off with such force that you knock the poor guy out of bed.

... you find yourself dashing madly toward the grocery store freezer section to throw your body across a display of frozen peas.

... you walk outside in the dead of winter, take off your shoes, and wade in the snow. Steam rises. And it feels good.

... the air coming out of your hair dryer at roughly four hundred eighty-seven degrees Fahrenheit feels cool to your sweating scalp.

... you dress in sleeveless shirts in the dead of winter without caring in the slightest if anyone sees the flabby ‘wings’ under your arms.

... your children offer you bars of chocolate with expressions of fear and trepidation, like primitive natives making offerings to appease an angry spirit.

... as you sit in front of the television in the evening, you notice that your family members are huddled under fleece blankets while you pluck ice cubes from your glass to roll across the back of your neck.

... you’ve discovered that anything can be used as a fan if you just wave it hard enough.

... you used to blot your perspiring forehead with a tissue, and now you reach for a beach towel.

... strangers look at you and ask sympathetically, “Too long on the tanning bed?”

If you’ve experienced two or more of these, I offer my condolences. You’re in good company. I’m right there with you.