Sweaty Buns

Sweaty Buns

When the man, my husband came in to wake me in order to go to our local REC center, I declined, telling him that I needed to cook my broccoli which had been sitting in the refrigerator for more than a week. After he left, I returned my alarm clock to the floor with a nice pile of dirty socks to muffle the tick, ticking of the clock.  I don’t like the noise while I am trying to go to sleep so over the years I have developed a routine of hiding my clock under a towel or discarded clothing but I have found socks work exceedingly well.

I began thinking of my day, cooking the broccoli, what to wear, figuring out what to have for breakfast.  Soon I began tossing, turning and ended up pushing the bedding to the foot of the bed allowing myself to steam off in the cool air of the bedroom.  Sweaty buns, I thought to myself as I flung my body onto its side.  My right bare arm rested on my side, my right hand touching one of the buns in question. Yes, definitely sweaty or is it a glow. Supposedly, women glow. Yeah, glowing, my royal ass.  Baby, I am sweating. In all of the creeks and crevices. Just a note, according to my sister Cindy, it never goes away.  Changes, yes, but never goes.  Just eat your dark chocolate during the day and you will know what I mean.

Luckily for me I never had to take hormones or rather I choose not to.  I had a brief period in which I would start stripping down practically everywhere.  Once in a jewelry store.  Fortunately, we knew the owner who smiled and continued to help us. The man, my husband told her, she gets hot. I did keep my blouse on but fanned myself a bit too rigorously defeating the purpose of fanning cool air on my body.  It is a good way to impress others.

Often, my own little ritual would begin with the removal of one piece of clothing followed by another piece and more articles of my attire until the blessed sweet cool air danced on my skin.  For a while, ice packs in my sports bra front and back was a new fashion statement in the privacy of my home.  Occasionally, our scrabble friend would see the sweater, t-shirt slide off and on throughout our game as I tried to adjust my temperature until I was sitting in just my bra on my torso.  I was aided in the process with a glass of cold water to put against my forehead and the back of my neck. The scrabble game went on.

Thankfully, I am way past those days.  My heat is mild lasting about 30 to 45 seconds.  Most of the time I sleep comfortably in my cotton flannel nightgown. I am resting beneath several quilts, a dark blue comforter, a couple of cream colored hand knitted afghans and a couple of small cotton blankets depending on the night.

 

I like to sleep with lots of things.  When I was a girl, it was the time of single pane windows that the winds whistled around and through.  Everyone slept with heavy quilts and a sibling or a cousin.

I would wake up with frost on inside of window from our breaths’ moisture in the night. The windows in my home are double pane now. Despite the whistling and howling of wind there is no frost except on the rooftops, the lawns about us. I have to wonder what the next decade has in store for me.  So far, I have begun to develop the attitude that this too shall pass.  Hopefully, the only future sweaty buns will be hot out of the oven with steam rising from the baking.