My life as a blast furnace and my new friend–the hot flash.

29 weeks, 0 days

A new phenomenon for me (did I mention that there seems to be a market for those lately?) and one that isn’t entirely terrible most times, given my northeasterly US locale and the fast-approaching winter.

Thankfully, since I spent high school in the late 90s and early 2000s (think American Eagle everything), I am no new-comer to layering my clothing  and I’ve been able to cope pretty well when the inevitable hot flashes come about. When they strike in the car, I ride with the window down and my head just about hanging out, not unlike your best canine friend who’s excited about a trip to the park.

I’m not good at dressing myself for bed, I’m afraid. We keep our house pretty cool at night, and I’ve been known to go to bed in the past decked-out in sweats, knee socks, a hooded sweatshirt and (if it’s a particularly chilly evening) a knit cap. Recently I’ve been wearing a pair of stretchy yoga pants and a 3/4 sleeve t-shirt but I’m finding that even in that (practically naked by my previous standards!) I wake with perspiration on my brow, a tell-tale boob sweat line and everyone’s sexy favorite: swamp ass. Eat your heart out, gentlemen. Looks like I’m going to have to dig out my biggest pair of running shorts and a tank top.

Not far from reality.

The upshot is that I almost never want to turn the heat up (reducing our household carbon footstep, you might say!) and I don’t have to always leave the house dressed like an Inuit. Remind me of these days next time I’m whining and shivering at 60 degrees, ok?

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