hot flushes, lettuce, baldness and other fun stuff
Now I have a close friend who always bemoans the creation of lettuce and has firmly told us that when he gets to heaven one day, the first thing he is going to ask God is what the whole idea with lettuce was.
I have asked that friend that should he get to heaven before me, he please asks, straight after the lettuce question, what the idea with hot flushes was.
Now I was a scholar of intermittent flushes. My body seems undecided whether I should now be getting them or not. They come and they go. Sometimes they visit 58 times a day, sometimes they leave me alone for a few days, but for the last while, it seems they are wanting to be around me all the time. How annoying.
Now the non-hot flush, too young, hormone treated, too old or simply don’t have it women will not understand this phenomenon, and the only people not getting it even more, are men. They have no damn idea. I asked a friend recently why the hell we got stuck with flushes, what do men have to deal with? He said baldness. What a choice.
For those who don’t know. Imagine it is 32 degrees outside. You are coolly dressed and moderately comfortable albeit a little testy with the heat. You have the fan blowing on you as you go about your work. The next minute someone steps up to you, busts open your chest, places 68 pieces of burning hot coal into your body and then sears your outer skin with a blow torch while at the same time making you sit in a sauna. That about describes it. And then a little while later, it stops. But beware because it shall return.
Now my boss has a good chuckle about this. I spend all day every day at work. I have a ceiling fan and a standing cooler. He knows that at least 3 times a day I will suddenly ask “are you getting very hot????” – he never is. He always laughs. And pats his upper arm, where perhaps I should get a patch. I burst out perspiring. I grab the jug of ice water and drink straight from the spout, there is no time for glasses or finesse. I crank the cooler up to speed 3 and chuck in another 2 ice squares, I fan myself with the files. And then it stops. And life resumes. Usually about 20 mins later you will find me reaching for my cardigan on the back of my chair. I bring one every day and usually forget to take it home. So, they get stacked one on the other on the back of my chair. Two weeks ago, I got up and my chair fell over backwards. It was suggested I return some clothes to my home.
Now on holiday with my family, they have witnessed it first hand during the day. We will walk in a centre or simply be in the flat and suddenly I will say “holy shit” (or something similar) and come to a dead stop. Sweat pouring down me. Face glowing like an Estee Lauder well-nourished skin care advert, I walk into the first and best air-conditioned store, I restrain myself from grabbing people’s drinks in nearby restaurants. I wait. Because this too shall pass.
So, it seems that perhaps when I get home a visit to the doctor would be the best option. I want to ask him for a patch. I would like it to be the size of a double bed. Then I can lay it on the floor and fall face down on it. Please wrap it around me, and leave me be.
I wonder how I would look bald? Perhaps it is the better option.
c’est la vie xxxx