Honey, it's just your hormones

By Delilah McMasters

Mansfield Record

“Darlene has her head in the freezer!” Lewis yelled over the fence. “Hurry, come check on her, she keeps cussing at me!”

When I went to check on her she had the fridge door open, with a chair pulled up close, holding a bag of purple-hull peas on the back of her neck with one hand, feet in the crisper drawers, fanning herself with the electric bill!

I carefully picked her shirt up off the floor and kicked her shoes out of the way as I circled around the kitchen, grabbed a glass,  “There is Dr Pepper in the back and sweet tea in the pitcher, which do ya want?”

“Yeah, that sounds real good.” Darlene never opened her eyes, just kept fanning her bright pink face.

“OK, let’s get your shirt back on and sit at the table, I’ll get us something to drink and you can tell me what’s going on.”

She backed away from the fridge, handed me the peas and forced the shirt over her sweaty torso.

Once we were settled at the table, me vigorously fanning her until my underarms flapped like an elderly director for the children’s choir, and her resting her red, sweaty cheek and forehead against the table and the outside of her tea glass, she began to talk.

“Delilah, I don’t know what happened. I was outside dead heading those climbing roses over by the fence line. It’s a little warmer than usual this morning and I thought about waiting until this evening, but I got bingo night with the girls. So I went to the garage to get a bucket to put them in, and as I was heading back across the yard I got hot! Like blue blazing, straight from hell, sweat dripping down my back hot! Remember that show at Christmas, the one where Mrs. Claus sends that poor little elf and reindeer to save Christmas? Ya know, the one with the Snow Miser and the Heat Miser? Girl, I went from Miss Ten Below to Miss 101 like Speedy Gonzales! All I could think about was getting cooled off and how my clothes were touching me.”

She lifted her head off the table, “It’s happening at night too. Poor Lewis, I wake up and my night clothes are soaked. I have to rip ‘em off, turn down the air to 62 and the fan on high! At first Lewis thought I was getting frisky with him, laying there with all my bits hanging out, like we were going to play some kind of Eskimo games. Stupid ass man! Now he just rolls up in a blanket and I lie there wide awake freezing or sweating. I hate him!”

Her eyes grew wide, “Delilah, you know I didn’t mean that, it just slipped out! Like I said, I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’m so tired I could just cry.”

By this time I had worked up a sweat and successfully completed my 12,000 steps on my Apple Watch from all the fanning. I sat down to rest. Sighed. Shook my head.

“Darlene, it’s your hormones, you ain’t got none, or what ya got is screwed up. Or God’s punishing you for all those mean stupid ass thoughts you’re having about Lewis late at night, but I highly doubt it. It’s called being premenopausal, which translates to cranky, unexpected death heat, emotional, feeling tired, cranky, not being able to lose weight, not wanting any of your bits touched, did I mention moody? Go to the doctor, they can give you a pill or some cream to put behind your knees. Don’t look at me like that! I don’t know why it’s behind your knees, just don’t get it on Lewis, he might grow his own bits.”

Darlene looked scared, “Oh Lordy, this doesn’t sound like fun at all. Do men go through something like this?”

“Yeah, they grow hair out of their ears.”

Darlene’s face turned pink again and as she put her head back in the freezer all I could hear was, “Stupid ass men, no wonder Mrs. Claus sent that damn little elf off to save Christmas. We should all be at the North Pole!”

Good luck, Lewis, remind her to make a doctor’s appointment to check those hormones, and hey, Merry Christmas.

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Delilah McMasters is a local resident and the mother of six. Reach her at BlessYourHeart76065@gmail.com.

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