Global warming is a very real, very personal concern for me. In fact, you could say it's hit me hard. Of course, some people might call it by a different name.

Menopause.

It feels like I just got the hang of my monthly cycle, knew how to plot it on the calendar, recognized the ups and downs of the days prior to all hell breaking loose.

And now, I have one period a year. Plan that.

Now, I have to carry, um, feminine articles with me at all times, because you never know when I might need something.  The last time it happened, I was getting off the plane in Chicago to go to my uncle's funeral, and my tampons were in my luggage - which I had to gather from baggage claim and couldn't fit into the bathroom stall so I had to dig through the suitcase for a tampon, then store my bags with the car rental counter then go back to the bathroom to put myself back into order so I could drive 3 hours to Decatur...

Well, it wasn't pretty.

And what if I run out of periods before I run out of products? Right now, I have about 36 tampons left from a box of 40. It's against my nature (and ecologically uncool) to throw things out willy-nilly, but I can't imagine where I could donate leftover (leftover, people, not used!) tampons. They don't have an expiration date, do they?

To add injury to insult, around the Christmas holidays, I began having my own private summers. They were vicious bursts of the most extreme internal heat that I have ever felt. I thought sometimes my organs were going to simply catch fire. Some people believe that death from spontaneous combustion is a myth; I know it's possible. I read an article on the Internet that said a woman might have as many as 13 hot flashes a week. A week? How about a day?!?

And let me just state for the record, that if you could really sweat off excess pounds, I'd be Audrey Freakin' Hepburn by now.

After the New Year, I went on my annual diet and found something disturbing. If I don't eat chocolate, I don't get hot flashes. I've given up meat for Lent, but it's torture to have to tell people that I've given up chocolate for menopause. Lent is a measurable length of time - how long will it be before I can enjoy a Snickers bar again?

Whoever wrote that song, "I Enjoy Being a Girl" needs a good bitch slap.