Lots of my own life ends up in my books.

Let me tell you a tiny, sweaty story so you can get an idea of how this works – or in this case, will work for a character in the future.

I hit full blown menopause at the ripe old age of 37. It came on like a thief in the night, only the thief cast a spell on me and gave me night sweats, hot flashes, and a raging desire not to take an ounce of crap from anyone ever again. So, a physical change and an attitude change from the above mentioned sneaky thief.

I would have night sweats five or six times a night. When it happened, I would wrench all the blankets and sheets up and fluff, arms pumping, sending waves of cool gusts of air straight at Innocent Husband and I. Each and every time this alarmed Innocent Husband, sleeping beside me.

The first time it happened he sat straight up in bed and hollered, “Oh my God. What are you doing?” in a rather  impatient and exasperated tone.

I replied, in a loud and don’t –  mess – with – me – or –  you – will – wake – up – missing – a – piece – of – your – body tone, “I’m having a night sweat! Back off! Ya hear me? Back off!”

He did not bother me much after that. I believe I frightened him. Or, perhaps, the Green Menopause Monster that dwells within me frightened him.

When the night sweat finally subsided, and I covered up again, I would soon become cold. For warmth I would hug Innocent Husband until the thief in the night blasted me with yet another hot flash, where upon I would, again, rip up all the sheets and blankets and fluff us until the rolling sweat ceased.

I will not stop and say how sexy I’m sure Innocent Husband felt this was.

Imagine this from his perspective: He is woken up many times during the night, all blankets and sheets flipped up into the air, then he is fluffed as if he is a Pharaoh and a hundred servants are waving thick feathers around. Only he is not a Pharaoh, there are no servants, there are no feathers. There is only a sweating, sometimes swearing wife (that would be me)  her legs fighting with the covers, fluffing as if she’s got a white sail in her clutches and if she stops fluffing the boat will sink.

She is not hot for him, she is hot because of skipping and diving hormones. She tells him about this, endlessly. He is not to touch her when she is sweating. He is not to say a word, lest the raging Green Menopause Monster emerges. She then lays there, dripping, and within minutes is hugging him again like a python, freezing cold. Within thirty minutes, the process begins again.

It made for exciting nights between us.  My husband, me, and a potential visit with the Green  Menopause Monster.

The hot flashes during the day were another matter. My hot flashes were not triggered by warmth, stress, exhaustion, nothing I could put my finger on. They just arrived. As in, “Hello, hello, Cathy! It’s time to take a sweat! Let’s release all the water in your body through your pores, atta girl!” And I would.

It was so inglorious. So indelicate. I wanted to walk around with a mini – fan in front of my face.  At first I was embarrassed. This embarrassment lasted about ten seconds. Honestly, I am too old and cranky to be embarrassed about much anymore.

I was not coming off drugs, I was not out running from a bounty hunter, I was not in a bikini being sprayed by a hose in a public square, and I was not being chased by a weasel or parrot. Nothing to be embarrassed about, really.

I was simply in menopause, brought on by the sneaky thief. Early. Like my mother and her mother who were struck with this in their early thirties.

How long did it last? Five years. Yep. Five of ’em.

Men have mid life crises. Women have hot flashes and night sweats.

I would rather have a mid life crisis and a red Corvette any day but I do not have time. I suspect other women feel the same. They would like to get a younger boyfriend and a fast car and claim to, “Want to be free,” but there is a job to go to, children to feed, laundry to do, carpools to run. So we have Menopause.  They get the Corvette.

I think I will soon create a character in the midst of menopause.  She will have a mid life crisis at the same time. She will dump a ridiculous, unappreciative husband and annoying, psycho in laws. She will tell her boss that he is a cyclopse. A condescending, narcissistic ant eater. A weak and spindly witch. She will quit everything, but she is not an idiot. First she will liquidate her assets, give as little as possible to ridiculous husband, and take off.

She will be hot flashing AND driving a red Corvette, all windows down, of course. She will take that zooming Corvette and head to Mexico. She will explore Mexico and refuse to pay policemen bribes unless they do a strip tease dance for her. She will wiggle her hips during flamenco dancing and eat tortillas with guac. She will learn how to make pottery. She will go to Central America and learn how to surf. She will go to South America and do … something.

She will find her true self in that red Corvette and when she is hot flashing or night sweating she will jump in the ocean and swim with the dolphins, naked.

It will be a menopause kick off to a whole new life.

See? That’s how my life ends up in my books.