So there I am at Intelligentsia, an über hipster coffee spot in Silver Lake, on a first date, when I feel it… heat in my chest radiating up to my neck and face until I’m swooningly hot and turning beet red. There’s a prickly, skin crawly feeling and lots and lots of sweat! Spontaneous orgasm? No, dear readers, nothing that awesome. I am not moaning, “Yes! Yes! Yes!” Instead, it’s a hot flash!
Everyone says, “Oh, you’re too young to have those!” I explain that no, I’m not really too young, just jipped that this is happening to me at 45, and not much, much later in life. It also makes for a very uncomfortable modern dating dilemma: What’s a hot, divorced, potential cougar to do when she starts melting on a date? Should I grin and bear it while excusing myself to the ladies room? Do I coyly dab at my flushed cheeks like a giddy schoolgirl? Or do I politely explain that, though I may not have lied on my profile and I’m really as young as I say, I’m having an old lady, granny panties, menopausal moment! Sexy, very sexy.
Luckily, men know even less about menopause than my friends or my doctors, and, even if I do let them in on my red hot secret, they have no idea what I’m talking about and just nod and look blankly. I’m assuming their only thoughts are, can she still get pregnant (yes), will she still have sex with me (maybe), and am I still paying for this date? While he’s mulling that over, I’m contemplating a daily dose of estrogen, or starting a new dance craze called “Hot Flash Mob.” Toss your head from side to side, two steps forward two steps back, then fan, fan, fan!