Apparently, a hot flash is like this:
You’re one of the silver-suited henchmen from the Drew Barrymore version of Firestarter. They call you in because she’s already taken out the guns, the Humvee, and that unsettling white guy who thinks he’s Native—and now she’s beyond furious. Because… Daddy.

Your superiors assure you it’ll be fine as they monitor from a comfy bunker. You suit up. Silver armor gleaming. You’re the Silver Surfer. They’re Galactus. Mwahahaha heavily implied.

Then she starts conjuring fireballs. Not your garden-variety flames—no, we’re talking about molten orbs radiating with the same heat as the center of a Tostinos Pizza Roll foolishly microwaved for more than three minutes. That stuff will peel the roof of your mouth and your soul.

Everything burns. Because the flames don’t stop. They get hotter. And hotter. Until the air itself is fire—and you realize with a terrible clarity… you are the Firestarter.

Of course, I don’t speak from experience. Aunt Flow may be tired, but she still shows up like clockwork every 21 days. I just wish the algorithms pushing content based on my age would stop making sure I am aware there is help out there for my Summer sweat.

For the past few weeks online all I see is HOT FLASH. Every Reddit thread? Hot flashes. Every pharma commercial on Hulu—both in English and Español— touting some new medication that might stop the sweating but could also make your liver leap out of your abdomen and wrap itself around your throat in protest.

Then came a Walgreens commercial—my very first time seeing one on Hulu. It told the tale of a sweaty, racially ambiguous shopper being guided by another menopausal woman to the holy grail: a perfectly positioned ceiling vent. Like some sort of climate-controlled salvation.

What tipped it into full-on surrealism was real life. At Pride, at the bar, in the WOB bathroom—every woman I chatted with was practically melting, deep in the throes of the Change. The algorithm didn’t have to guess. It was all around me. Live. Sweaty. Unfiltered

Luckily, (or unluckily I suppose) Queen Gertrude of the Silver Bush, Ruler of the Lower Domains, has closed the borders until 2030 and will fight any incursion. A recent amicable treaty with the Lands of Taint and MYASSSASSSS ensures that I have 5 years until my core turns into a Pizza Roll. All must burn.