It sneaked up on me before I realized what it was.
A fire in my belly. Well, a fire everywhere in me, really. That's how it feels. Like I'm on fire. Like somebody turned me into the Human Torch, that dude in the Fantastic Four who can turn his body into a bonfire at will. Only I have a sneaky feeling that he's a lot more comfortable in his own fiery skin and feels a lot more empowered than I do when I'm soaking in sweat and would like nothing more than to be doused with a blast of cold water from a fire department-issue hose.
Yes, I'm talking about that hallmark of middle age for women and, from what I've read, some men: hot flashes. Or what one of my friends calls a "personal summer."
Personal summers make setting the home thermostat quite the task. It's tough finding a happy medium anyway. One degree up, it's too hot; one degree down, it's too cold. A hot flash will make one degree up feel like I'm my own pot roast. So I'll beg for a cooler setting, which my husband will bear for only so long before he starts complaining about his sinuses or grabbing parkas. If he's lucky, my personal summer comes to an end while I'm sacked out and I'll wake up wondering if I was teleported to the North Pole before realizing I'm freezing from a night-sweat session.
My personal summers don't seem to be prevalent at the time they would be most welcome: the dead of winter. Hitting me at a time when I could avoid having to hunt for tights and bundle up in a variety of coats and wraps -- all at once -- would be far too much like right.
As if that bad timing isn't enough, they come upon me when I'm at my busiest and need to look my most presentable: when I'm wearing my society-photographer hat on behalf of the Arkansas Democrat-Gazette High Profile section.
That's when stray cardboard pieces, event programs or laminated restaurant menus come in handy for fanning. Trying to tote around a wad of Kleenex to discreetly dab at one's face from time to time has its drawbacks. One: What's worse? Walking around with beads of sweat on one's face, or walking around with bits of soaked Kleenex on one's face -- in addition to sweat? Yes, there are handkerchiefs, but those little delicate darlings can also become quickly overwhelmed ... not to mention yucky-looking if they're white and used to dab a face laden with cosmetics.
My personal summers can be so bad I've taken to toting around a dark, not-so-discreet washcloth. I guess it would help if I'd get one of the cheapie ones that can be folded easily and hidden rather than one that has seen better days, but is high-end enough that it's about the size of a beach towel and just as hard to fold. And that's if I even remember to put one in my handbag.
In light of these challenges, it has been more than once I've had someone at a social event peer intently with a look of concern and ask, "Are you all right? Can I get you a glass of water/soda/smelling salts?"
"No thanks; I'll be all right," is my embarrassed reply, sometimes followed by the lame explanation, "I just, er, glow easily."
Occasionally I'll encounter someone who understands -- a sister in personal summerness who happens to be drowning in her own perspiration. "Whew, I thought it was just me!" she'll say, perhaps regaling me with her own tales of melting any piece of metal she happens to be standing by or driving her husband to exile.
A fellow sufferer on Twitter, I'm guessing an Englishwoman, named her account Personal Summer. "I think I actually scared a bloke yesterday as I turned red and started fanning myself," she tweeted in March last year. A tweet from a month earlier: "Oh the joy of having your own personal summer when on a plane! Not enough room to strip off!"
Such is life.
I'll be easy to spot at the summer soirees. I'll be the one with a battery-operated misting fan in one hand and a beach towel-sized face-dabber in the other. No, I don't need an ambulance. Just bring me a giant, hollowed-out block of ice I can crawl into, thank you very much.
Feel free to email any personal summer tips (that don't involve medication -- physical or mental) to:
hwilliams@arkansasonline.com
Style on 04/26/2015