Body Heat

I sat down at the computer in a gray sweater to write this blog.  Two sentences into the draft, I pulled the sweater off.  I was overheating. 

I don't mean overheating as in, "Come here, honey, let's have some fun!"  I mean overheating
as in, "Turn  the a.c. to sixty so I can get some relief!"  We live in Florida, don't forget.

This bodily reaction has been going on for twenty-plus years. It started around the time my hormones left me and took up residence I don't know where.   I refuse to take Hormone Replacement Therapy and instead pop nightly soy supplements and drink soy milk for breakfast and dinner.  The milk tastes better than niacin tablets, which turn my face and neck into a prickly red minefield of zits resembling the rash I get when Charley's beard scrapes me.  If I'm going to look like that, I want a little reward.

Time out...now getting cold and must put my sweater back on.

On any random night Charley knows that our blanket will be thrown off sometime before midnight and then yanked back up at an ungodly hour.  He tucks his side under his body so it won't move.  He has grown used to my saying that I am burning up and would he please roll to the other side of the bed.  He knows things won't change for a long time ---  my mother passed away at ninety and was still having flashes.

Excuse me...must take the sweater off again.  I am drinking hot tea.

At a dinner party Charley actually counted four times I took a jacket off and put it back on.  I reminded him that testosterone doesn't last forever, either.