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MAY 1. MAYDAY. MAYDAY.

Dear Diary,

I’m tired of being tragic.

Hot Flash Queen of America reporting in: Yesterday I timed them—like perverse labor pains—2.6 per hour averaged, a new record. By the end of the day, I was exhausted with the surges and the sheer effort of ripping my clothes off and then putting them back on. The blazing heat and drenched clothes are bad enough, but it’s the nausea and vertigo that really whack me. Lucky Lindsey, you win the rare triple whammy!

So I was going through the checkout line at Food Land (ha! no more Nick telling me where to shop) and there in the impulse-buy rack was this battery-powered Chinese plastic purse-size fan. On special at a buck! I slipped one in with my groceries, hoping no one was noticing.

Then of course the little cutie with the curly hair and soul-patch goatee picked it up, cocked his head, and gave me a puzzled look. “These are selling pretty hot lately, but it isn’t even summer yet.”

The gal in line behind me started chuckling, gave me a nudge. “Oh, honey, you got the reverse curse, too? Men just don’t know how lucky they are!”

Then down the line a blue-haired granny type piped up, “Don’t worry, you’ll be glad to put all that behind you. Think of the money you’ll be saving on those glad rags.” In her cart I saw she had a packet of adult diapers.

By this time the whole line was chortling, and the poor checker had gone beet red, whipping the rest of my stuff through the scanner as fast as he could.

So naturally all this triggered another flash, roaring up my back prickling and blazing. Broke out into a sweat, face ready to burst, but I’d be damned if I was going to cap off the performance by tearing off my sweatshirt right there to the applause of the crowd.

And the beat goes on….