Hot Flashes and Ugly Sweat

I need to talk about hot flashes for just a minute, if you don't mind. I am telling you, I don't know why they're called flashes-ss, plural. I feel like I have been having one, long, god awful flash since 2014. It should be called a slow burn! I'm hot, all. the. time. It's November, my air conditioner is still running and I have ceiling fans that would levitate my apartment if I weren't sandwiched into a middle unit. My grandmother was always wringing wet and I naively thought it was because cookin' in her tiny kitchen made her all hot and sweaty...no, I firmly believe she was in a perpetual hot flash state like me. Look here, I was working last night when the gross reality of my flop sweats was on display for the whole retail world to witness. I'm a seasonal cashier at Kohl's, I know, try not to be jealous, and I'm not kidding when I say people looked concerned for me. It wasn't until I looked in a mirror that I could see why!! My hair was disheveled, my face was bright red, I was sweating profusely from my forehead and it was dripping down the sides of my face, causing my ear piece to keep falling out. My neck and decolletage were aglow with salty brine, making stalactite trails disappearing into my cleavage. Most of the managers I work with are young enough to be my offspring, so when I stop to fan myself they must not understand that I'm dying, because they give me busy work to do in a store that has no air and is hot AF. Seriously, I feel like a dog left in a hot car with the windows cracked. Yes, it's that bad.

Okay, so it's James McAvoy, you get the gist. The Brittany Spears GIF was too pretty...I'm going for a feel here. And this is my feel whenever I'm not in the sanctity of my ice cold abode. Tomorrow I have a seven and a half hour shift. Pray for me...