"Man, it's so hot in here, huh?" I asked my colleague. From his noncomittal response, I could tell that no, it wasn't hot in here. Not to him anyway.
Later, I mentioned it to the school secretary, asking if the heat could be turned down.
Ten minutes later, the head custodian walked into our meeting room, holding a probe in his hand, looking like he was hunting ghosts.
"It's 67 degrees in here," he said to the room, the probe showing the temperature. "Who said it was hot in here?"
I wanted to melt into a puddle (much like the one that was pooling in my pits). Others looked around confused. "I think it's really comfortable," said a young man who has never had a hormone flare.
I smiled and walked over to this dear man, trying to ward him off from declaring the temperature again. "Scully," I playfully hissed. "Are you trying to pre-menopause shame me?" He laughed, used to working with women.
The puddles pooling in the pits made me laugh out loud. The alliteration and comic delivery are spot on to how I’ve been feeling this week. I keep thinking I have a fever or worse, but nope! The thermometer and rapid tests are suggesting otherwise.
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