As that sinks in, my critical self attacks conjuring up a dramatic scene. Legions of menopausal women, who weirdly all happen to look like some version of me, call out "What do you mean your hot flash was fun??! Them are fightin' words!" I cower realizing that this unsettling mob would love to go a few rounds with me in the ring for stating something so outlandish, so ludicrous and contrary.
Whoa there! I stop myself and give no more attention to that fabrication.
During those twenty seconds, I'd crossed the line. That hot flash was fun. Pleased, I turn over, fluff up my pillows and drift back to sleep.