Hot Flashes & Cold Cream

Chapter One ; With one glance at my body in the bedroom mirror, my suspicions are confirmed. Everything has gone south--and I didn't make a reservation. ; "Gordon!" I scream for my husband like a deprived woman at a sidewalk sale. "Come quick! I've been kidnapped!" ; Without a moment to lose, I try to reverse the aging process by shooting determined arms into the air. I'm reaching for the ceiling as if my life depends on it, and jogging in place. Immediately thinking my waist needs it most of all, I clasp my fingers overhead and plunge sideways in one dramatic swoop. Denise Austin would be proud. ; My husband dashes around the corner, heaving gulps of air, panic on his face. "Maggie, what the--" ; Suddenly my hands wallop the side of Gordon's nightstand lamp and send it crashing against the wall, narrowly missing his head. The shade flies across the room, sparks scatter with bulb pieces, and the remains sizzle like a steak on the grill. ; One look at Gordon's face, and I'm thinking my days of worrying about this age thing are over. ; I may not live to see breakfast. ; "I thought you screamed"--he's bending over now and gasping for breath--"that you were being kidnapped." Pulling a hand-kerchief from his pocket, he wipes his forehead. I feel bad that I've caused him to sweat when he's already dressed for work. He stuffs the hankie back in place. "Well?" ; Okay, so my body wasn't kidnapped, but somehow this doesn't seem like the time to tell him that Grandma borrowed it. Can we say Freaky Friday moment here? I'm walking around in Grandma's skin, and somewhere in heaven Grandma is walking around in mine. No, that can't be right. Grandma now has a heavenly body, and I know my body is anything but heavenly. ; "Maggie?" ; I avoid the issue. "I'm sorry about the lamp, Gordon." We stoop down to pick up the broken pieces. ; "That was a close one. If I didn't know better, I might think you were trying to get rid of me. What's going on, Maggie?" ; Okay, I'm a klutz. So rub it in my face, why don't you. Next time, maybe I won't miss. Whoa, Maggie. Down, girl. ; "I'm waiting." Gordon steps behind me, his heavy breathing sounding a lot like Darth Vader. ; Scooping the last bit of bulb into the trash, I put the lamp back on the stand, hoping that if I stall long enough, he'll go away. ; He doesn't. ; I take a deep breath and turn to him. ; "Well, see, I ran into Debra Stiffler--or whatever her married name is now--at the store yesterday . . ." ; "What does that have to do with you screaming? I thought you hurt yourself or someone was hurting you." He doesn't bother to hide his irritation. ; "Okay, so sometimes I overreact." A fact he still struggles with after almost thirty years of marriage, I might add. ; "Sometimes?" He's peering over his glasses the way he used to do to our kids, Heather and Nick, when they were in trouble. ; "Most times?" ; "You ever heard of the 'Little Boy Who Cried Wolf'?" ; With a lift of my chin, I walk over to the dresser, pick up my brush, and run it through my hair, all the while staring at Gordon through the mirror. ; His breathing quiets and now his eyes turn soft as his reflection looks back at me. "Look, Maggie, you scared me, that's all." His Tommy scent soothes me. I put the brush down, and he wraps his arms around my waist. "I don't want anything to happen to you." ; "I'm sorry, Gordon." &lHunt, Diann is the author of 'Hot Flashes & Cold Cream ', published 2005 under ISBN 9781595540690 and ISBN 1595540695.