Wednesday, January 5, 2011

The Icewoman

Over the years, I've thought it funny to sneak up on my husband and place one of my cold hands or feet on his bare skin.  I feel an unhealthy sense of joy when I hear him yell out something like "aaaaargh!" or "what the!".  By the time he realizes what just happened, I'm already gone.  Cat-like reflexes.  Simply stated?  He can't catch me. 

Now that I'm getting um...older...the cold hands/feet have reached a level of temperature that would rival dry ice.  Therefore, my game is even less fun for my husband...and of greater humor to me.  I mention my age in this, because I've noticed that my monthly migraines and middle-of-the-night-wake-up-gasping spells have morphed into middle-of-the-night-wake-up-freezing spells.  Let me tell you, and if you've ever had a migraine you will understand...I will take ANYTHING over a migraine. 

Last night, I went to bed in my husband's giant winter jacket and hat to be funny.  My husband?  Didn't think it was so funny.  In fact, I think he said something like, "what is wrong with you?  Nevermind.  Don't answer that."  At least my kids thought it was funny.  They followed me to bed, turned on the light, and photographed me as if I was the Sasquatch.  Or something from Attack of The Killer Tomatoes.  I'm seriously not that big.  It's totally the jacket...

My hands and feet are not just freezing, they're frozen.  Despite wearing 2 pairs of my husband's socks, my feet are not warm.  Last night, after I delivered a masterful "freezing hand to the armpit" placement on my husband, he added, "good God, woman!  Go to the doctor or somethin'!" to his word bank. 

Go to the doctor.  Oh come on.  As if that's going to happen.  I'll tell you when I'll go.  When my hand or foot sticks to him in the same way your fingers stick to an ice cube.  That will be worth the $50 copay.

I've read that I may be able to blame ms for this trait.  Something about spinal lesions and communication problems with the parasympathetic nervous system.  So I'm really not sure who gets the blame or perimenopause.  I'm kind of hoping it's the latter, because perimenopause means the start to "the end"!  Ladies!  You hear me, right?

Either way, I feel like a superhero.  Forget leaping tall buildings in a single bound, or flying in my invisible airplane and stopping bullets with my 4" wide bracelets...I can make a large man spring approximately 6" off of any flat surface he's sitting on with the touch of one hand...or foot.  THAT is a cool trick.  Just call me "Icewoman"...

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