Flashing the Night Away

There should be an immunization for it – menopause, that is! At least there should be one available for middle-aged women living in the state of Texas.

Folks who reside in the Lone Star State come to accept bedtime temperatures in the 90-95 degree range, and daytime temperatures are simply unspeakable. Could there possibly be a worse climate for menopausal women? I don't think so, darlin'!

Not until those midlife years did I worry about our A/C going on the fritz. We were lucky, and no such breakdowns occurred during our sweltering summers. We did, however, experience a freeze-up! Who knew an air conditioner could even do that? Moreover, a freeze-up means you cannot turn it off.

It was an oppressive night when we realized the house was getting colder and colder by the minute. Fiddling with the thermostat did nothing. It just kept on running. The hour was late, but I called and woke our A/C man out of desperation.

He yawned and explained our options. We could let it run nonstop, pile on some blankets, and wait until he arrived in the morning. However, the A/C unit could suffer serious damage. The other option was to follow his instructions and turn it off at the unit itself – although that meant it could not be started again until he arrived the next morning. We chose to turn it off when faced with the possibility of buying a new unit.

By the time we jumped into bed, the house was cooler than normal, and it was splendid. Still, in due time, I was besieged by a hot flash attack and a husband snoring to beat the band. I tossed back the sheet. Whew – thank the Lord for ceiling fans!

When my glistening body was nearly dry, I began to shiver and my teeth even set to chattering. I yanked the bedcovers up to my nose, but there was no sleep to be had, for hubby's snoring had evolved into something akin to the snort of a hog!

Pure frustration brought on another firestorm from the waist up, accompanied by wet, stringy hair. I charged out of bed, stomped into the living area, and closed all the blinds tightly. I ripped my nightclothes off, and pitched them across the room with a giggle. "There!" I tripped the ceiling fan and flopped onto the couch directly beneath it. Ah, relief once more – just maybe sleep would come after all.

Well, it wasn't to be. As if the darned flashes weren't enough, sleeplessness had become another menopausal monster to contend with, and sadly, the monster seemed to be winning the battle! The more I yearned for sleep, the wider awake I became – night after night after night.

So, I tiptoed around the house and wracked my brain. How was I going to pass the hours until morning when silence was an absolute must? Should those precious snoozing pups hear a strange middle-of-the-night sound, they'd fly straight up out of bed yapping. Yep, ready to give an intruder a good Texas killin' for sure. Jerry would be right behind them, and we'd all be tired and cranky come mornin'.

There was but one thing to do: eat, and eat chocolate! I could justify my decision by the calcium it contains – I'd be doing something good for my bones by warding off osteoporosis. Just another malady in a list with no end.

I was about to take my first delicious bite of brownie, when I recalled its caffeine content: My brownie of gigantic proportions would be one massive jolt. More sleep interference – drat it all. A teardrop rolled down my cheek and landed on my bare chest. "Aha! I'll just wash it down with a glass of Merlot and they will counteract one another." I smiled at my wisdom. Feeling the need to pamper myself, I used one of my favorite crystal wine glasses.

The last thing I recall before dozing off was a quick peek at the clock; it said 5:30am. In what seemed only a matter of minutes, I was jerked awake by the tickle of a shaggy, schnauzer beard dancing across my nose. The gang was up and at 'em – a new day had dawned. Oh joy!

I headed towards our bedroom and caught a glimpse of myself in the hallway mirror. Whoa, talk about a frightful reflection. "Well now, just call me Miss Haggetha!" I muttered aloud.

My husband's shower ran full-force, while I rummaged around in my nightstand drawer. Soon I heard the bathroom doorknob begin to turn, and I zipped out of sight.

On my way to the kitchen I spied the pups. My nightie had become the central game piece in a rowdy bout of tug-o-war. "Oh, no! Give me that you ornery little critters!" (Talk about sleep deprivation: I was still nearly naked and hadn't even realized it!)

I slipped on my nightie and planted myself in a kitchen chair facing the doorway. When Jerry headed for the coffee pot, I wanted him to see the condition I was in – and I wanted some sympathy. My hair hung in my face and my eyes were puffy with purple-tinged rings around them. Still, I mussed my hair a tad bit more for effect. My thinking even seemed fuzzy.

I could see him approaching. Gee, he was quite handsome clad in his new, dark suit. Within seconds, he stood right in front of me as if everything was normal, including my dreadful appearance. He could not have made a worse mistake; the first words out of his mouth were, "And how did you sleep, honey?"

With teeth gritted, I gently pulled my hand from behind my back, aimed – and shot him! Oh, the look of surprise on his good-looking face was priceless. His hand trembled as he searched for the wet spot on his pristine, starched, dress shirt; he dabbed at it with three fingers. Then I shot once more for good measure! His disbelieving eyes bore into mine. He should have known, he should have known! I have water pistols stashed all over the house.

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