Sweat Fest

Night sweats. They're pretty much unavoidable when you're going through--or even rounding the corner of -- The Change. Waking up in the wee hours of the morning, hair plastered to the back of your neck, sheets stuck to skin sticky with salt. If you're coupled, you make sure to move to the far side of the bed so your partner can't cuddle up to your sweaty self. It's just too embarrassing. Sometimes it's unavoidable, however, and a little shuffling beneath the sheets ensues, resulting in those two little words every woman longs to hear: "Ewww! Gross!"
Menopause seems to single-handedly redefine pillow talk. "Wow baby, you're so hot!" at 3 am now means something entirely different than it did during the courtship phase. And don't even get me started on the new definition of 'wet.'
The other night I was awoken by my significant other quietly rummaging (that may be an oxymoron) through drawers in search of a dry t-shirt.
"Shit," she whispered to the night, after stepping on a half-chewed strip of rawhide abandoned by one of the dogs.
"Whas goin' on?" I mumbled, still half asleep.
"Oh, I'm looking for a fresh shirt. Mine is soaked."
Two years ago that might have begged the question, "Soaked with what?" But now, with both of us knocking on the door of the big M, it's a given that perspiration is the pernicious culprit.
"Oh, ok... sorry baby," I uttered and rolled back over into my own expanding circle of sweat.
And so it goes...