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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….

“Hrrm. Lindsey? Ted Horner here. Hrrm. Yeah, well I thought I’d just say hi. How you doing?”

Out of the blue, it’s a phone call from an old friend – no, really just an acquaintance – from high school days. Or maybe not so out of the blue. The hometown web seems to be wired, signals going out and in. Seems Ted ran into Cheri, living in Seattle now but up for a visit, and she’d been talking to Don, who mentioned he’d seen Nick with his new girlfriend.

Ted keeps clearing his throat. “You know, when I saw you last winter out with Megan and Joe at the Grizzly Bear, I don’t know why I didn’t ask you to dance.”

Lindsey doesn’t remind him that was when Megan asked about his wife who wasn’t in evidence.

“Well, since Zhia and I split, I figure I’ll get out more. Hrrm. I’ve got two tickets to the Theater Guild this Friday….”

All that sticks in Lindsey’s memories of him is a vague image of shaggy brown hair and a motorcycle. He was on the football team. Now he tells her he owns a commercial fishing boat in Alaska, where he captains it during the summer salmon season.

What the hell, he’s being straight with her, so she says yes.

The play’s a farce – a bedroom bedlam of closed and opening doors, lovers and would-be lovers hiding in bathroom and closet while jealous wives stalk and disguises get swapped. Lots of pratfalls and exaggerated facial contortions. She and Ted are sitting front row, where they can literally see the actors spraying spit. And Lindsey can’t stop laughing.

She always used to embarrass her big sister when she’d tag along to the weekend movie matinees. Fran would threaten to gag her. And now Lindsey’s doing it again, breaking out even during the beats when no one else in the theater is getting tickled, her helpless laughter echoing over the pause. It’s almost like she gets possessed – like those Voodoo dancers when the gods take them over and they eat coals – and the line between pleasure and pain gets blurred, her gut spasming, and she breaks into a sweat it’s so absurd. Joni Mitchell had it right on so many things: it’s the same release, laughing and crying.

By this time the woman sitting next to her is looking over pointedly, but Ted doesn’t seem to mind. In between her laugh attacks, he whispers questions about the plot or makes comments like, “Oh, it’s really the boyfriend in the Italian tenor’s costume.” Which makes Lindsey laugh even more helplessly, when she realizes he’s serious.

She’s limp by the end, and he ushers her outside, apologizes because he forgot to open the car door for her. He explains again about his other car – the Mercedes – that’s in the shop so they had to take his SUV. And even though the evening’s mild, they now have to wait while the huge vehicle warms up, so he can demonstrate the features of the leather seats. She feels something weird under her butt, really pretty unsettling, then she laughs some more when she realizes it’s a heater and not some new insane menopause symptom.