Is It Hot In Here Or What?


I have rabies. Not really, but I might as well since my symptoms are similar – foaming at the mouth, rage, profuse sweating.  It’s called peri-menopause.


One morning, I woke up with an overwhelming desire to assault my husband with barbeque utensils.


“Uh, what are you doing?”


“Why do you care?”


“Because you are holding a barbeque brush and tongs, and that’s scary.”


I knew something was wrong. I went to a MALE doctor. “You’re at the beginning stage of the change – no worries.”


“So, I shouldn’t worry I’d rather smother you with that pillow than look at you?”


“No. You’re beginning an exciting time.”


Blink. Blink.


 “I wonder what he’d look like with that stethoscope rammed up his nose. Man, it’s hot in here.”


“There are uncomfortable symptoms, but a positive attitude is key.”


Blink. Blink.


“I’m positive I’m going to burst into flames right here. What does he have the heat set at, cremate?” I thought.


So, here’s a closer look at this stage of a woman’s life.


Peri is Latin for “Why’s it so &@(% hot in here?” and menopause means “Don’t touch me.”


Women have been dealing with this since Eve attacked the snake in a rampage because he said her jeans made her butt look big. She fed the snake to Adam in a casserole saying, “Here – choke on this.”


But, there’ve been discoveries giving us more understanding of the processes, as explained by the brochure the doctor gave me before he drew his last breath.


It read: “Welcome to peri-menopause. You’re about to embark on an adventure you may find liberating, but while some women find this stage pleasant, some experience the following ‘nuisances’:


“Forgetfulness, excessive hairiness, bloating, weight gain, mood swings, hot flashes, insomnia, lack of energy, forgetfulness, headaches, achy joints, tearfulness, dry skin, bleeding gums, acne, wrinkles, loss of muscle tone, nightmares, and rage.  Your body is ceasing production of every female hormone. Eventually, your DNA will resemble that of a Yeti’s.”


That night, I dreamed of hunting down the brochure writer and flogging him with a ham. I showed up at the company. “Yes, I’d like to meet the moron who wrote this brochure.”


She pushed the intercom. “Yes, Harold, there’s a lady to see you about a brochure.” Pause. “You can go back to cubicle 52.”


I lumber like a Yeti to cubicle 52. “Are you Harold?” I asked.




“Do you even KNOW any women?”




“That’s what I thought.” I then flogged him with my ham. 


“So what did the doctor say?” my husband asked.


“I have rabies.”


“Oh, thank goodness – we thought maybe it was menopause.”


Blink. Blink.


“What’s for dinner?”


“Ham,” I said. “A nice, big ham.”