Menopause

A bare-naked leg dangled desperately off the edge of the bed, as she struggled to adjust the temperature.

(Men and pause) had ravaged her body, destroying its ability to maintain proper function. Hot then cold, tired then weak, insomnia followed by exhaustion. A cycle, years in the making.

Though the fan hummed and spun courageously on high, the intense, internal heat, radiated from head to toe. Leaving vague imprints of her outline. Wet sheets mocked the once enticing illusion of such intrigues.

She sulked silently, sweating in the darkness. Waiting for daylight to give its sunny approval to stir.

As she drug her tired, sleep ridden body to the shower. She turned on some music to set the tone of the day, hoping for a reprise. When the sight of her reflection, stopped her in her tracks.

Her aged transformation caught her by surprise. She paused for a moment, gazing at the stranger in her mirror. "Where did you come from?" she snapped vehemently. Her image stared back, silently, seemingly withholding the answer she so desperately craved.

She ran her fingers around her eyebrows, her hair still damp from the last hot flash. She struggled as she tugged a comb through the knotted mess, Tossing the comb onto the vanity she sighed.

Biting her lower lip, she pinched at her cheeks, her once radiant, flawless skin now appeared ashen and pasty. Much like the baker, at the pastry shop she frequented on her way to work. "Where DID you come from," she demanded again.

With no response from her less than enchanting image, she flipped her middle finger at the mirror and flung the curtain back to start the water, mumbling. "Who's gonna notice anyway..."

She climbed into the shower, cranking the hot water down, letting the cold water cool her to her core.

As she finished her shower, she wrapped herself in a towel, she grinned as she turned the hot water back up, fogging over the reflection in the mirror. "I don't need to see THAT again," she said, making her way back to the fan in her bedroom.

She tossed the towel onto the floor, flopped back on the bed and air dried. By the time she was ready to proceed with the morning routines, she felt as if she needed to shower again.

"Damn hot flashes," she growled. Feeling disheveled, she threw her hair in a bun, and headed out.

As she was standing in line at her favorite bakery, a voice from behind her asked. "Excuse me ma'am, I need you to settle an argument for me and my friend here."

She turned to find two middle aged men snickering..."yeah, ok, what is it? She sighed.

"At what age does a woman stop being hot?" He laughed as he was asking.

Half irritated, she asked, "I don't know, when?"

"NEVER he blurted, they just get hot flashes!" As they fell over themselves laughing, she got her order and began to leave, when she felt another hot flash coming on. To her dismay, the men also noticed the perspiration seeping through her blouse and began to laugh again, using her as their ill-timed punchline.

She later told police; she didn't know what had come over her.

As they escorted her out of an applauding building, she noticed the two men sitting on the floor. They were covered head to toe in flour water and dough, surrounded by a crowd of perspiring women.

She smiled as she slid into the air-conditioned patrol car.

Moral of the story? Just don't.

And if you must; please, read the room