There's A Body In My Freezer

     I wasn’t going to talk about it. It’s just too embarrassing and too personal. But then I thought, I can’t just not talk about it. Every twenty minutes, twenty-four hours a day for the past two years IT has interrupted my life. (Warning: If you are a guy reading this, you should probably stop right now because you are not going to want to hear the gory details.)  IT—my friends—is menopause. 
     The night sweats started around two years ago and within a few weeks they were followed by full blown hot flashes. A tingling sensation starts on my scalp, then within seconds my entire head heats up hot enough to fry an egg on. This incinerator force heat moves down my face, over my neck and then on down south, finally exiting through the soles of my feet. By then I have enough moisture running down my back and between my boobs to poach an egg, or at the very least to put out a small kitchen fire.
     After about six months of this picnic, the suicidal tendencies began. My sleep is interrupted about three times an hour as a hot flash covers me in a way that no down comforter can. I flip my pillow over searching for the cool spot and kick the covers off like a two year old throwing a temper tantrum. My poor husband—you know, The Big Guy, he lays there shivering, clinging to a corner of the sheet as all bedding is jettisoned. Sometimes there is sobbing, as one or both of us may be crying ourselves to sleep. I move the .38 off of the nightstand…just in case.
     Daytimes are worse, mostly because I am wearing more clothes. I’ve become quite adept at shucking my outer layer of clothing while driving, shopping, cooking, eating, drinking, walking, and talking. Don't ask me how, but trust me when I say that I happen to be “in the know”, that most nudists are over the age of fifty, which makes me believe that the majority are menopausal women looking for relief, and old guys…just looking. The Big Guy would be on board with this if it meant there would be a snowballs chance in hell that I would quit rolling down the window at 80 mph in the winter and kicking on the AC.
     Six more months pass and I swap suicidal thoughts for homicidal ones. I'm prematurely crabby and want to kill anybody who is not breaking a sweat in 40 degree weather. I hate everyone—even my poor hubby, whom for the most part I do truly love. He looks at me funny now---as if I’m someone who can turn my head 360 degrees. I move the .38 back to the nightstand…just in case.
     Before you judge me as some holistic or sadistic weirdo who won’t take hormones, let me just say that I am not a candidate for that cancer inducing treatment. I do pop herbal supplements like a pain addicted junkie, but have no idea if they are really helping me. I’d like to think that they are because I can’t imagine how unbearable this sweat-fest would be if they weren’t. I was ready to make a deal with the devil when I accidently found some relief for my own personal hell. It’s not the cure, mind you, but it is worth sharing with my hormonal sisters who have the same unwanted belly fat and propensity for murder, that I have.
     So, the other day I go to the freezer looking for something to fix for dinner. It is true that I spend a fair amount of time with my head in the freezer while contemplating dinner, but it was purely accidental when I stumbled upon what has been the best remedy thus far. While debating salmon or sirloin I felt that familiar tingle on my scalp. I stepped up on the ledge (where the door closes) of my Kitchenaide refrigerator/freezer, circa 2005, and found that my face was at the exact spot where the icemaker is. I flipped up that little door and a rush of freezing cold air blasted me, instantly freezing perspiration, frustration and exhaustion. I inhaled a breath of icy relief and made a mental note that if you are under 5’5” and weigh less than 140 pounds you are the perfect size to fit inside the freezer! It’s like it was made for my body! I thought I heard the devil whimpering, frozen in his tracks, as if that bottle of vodka in my hand were a crucifix and I was performing an exorcism.
     So ladies, if your current “treatment” hasn’t curbed your enthusiasm for murder, try sticking your head in your ice maker or climbing into your freezer. If you have a better home remedy or a sure-fire herbal recommendation, please pass it on. I’m completely open to suggestions. But hold that thought for a second…I’ll be right back…I just remembered that I forgot to take something out of the freezer for dinner tonight!

I am going to put my recipe for Killer Crab Cakes with Roasted Red Pepper Ailoi, with this post. “Crab” for obvious reasons, but also because they freeze well.  Make up an extra batch and stash them in the far corner of your freezer. You can always pretend that you are looking for them, if you happen to get caught with your head in the freezer for an abnormal amount of time.  Go to the "Appetizer" tab at the top of this page to view it.