Hot Mama!

No. Unfortunately, not THAT kind of hot mama...

It's more like this kind:

I suppose that at age 47, it was bound to happen sooner or later. I was kind of hoping for later though. The onslaught of hotflashes.

I have always been a little on the warm side (ironically, my temperature is usually lower than normal). I feel warm when everyone else is shivering. Living in Florida kind of exascerbated that phenomenon. Or maybe it's this extra layer of fat. I don't know... but in the last couple of months, it's gotten worse.

People walk through the halls at work in sweaters and rubbing their arms and I am mopping my brow. I run the fan in my office. This is the norm. I am dying to move somewhere north, perhaps above the arctic circle - especially in the summer.

But recently, oh. my. God. I can't sleep unless there's a fan going full blast on me. I drink ice water constantly. Ice to the top with water. I take cold showers and by the time I get dressed, I'm drenched again. Makeup is pointless - it slides right off again. My hair always looks plastered to my head.

When I was little, I thought all older women were shiny. They had a glow about them. They carried little handkerchiefs and dabbed at their necks and temples. They wore lots of powder and somehow still managed to look damp and dewy. Perhaps that's why I never understood why makeup companies seemed to love that "dewy" complexion look... give me matte makeup anyday!

And now, here I am. Damp and dewy. And hotter'n blazes. You might want to walk a few paces away from me.

To my co-workers: I appologize. You will be exposed to my bare, flabby, white, scarred arms. I cannot stand wearing more than a tank top at the moment. For both our sakes, I hope this passes soon!