Yesterday my husband turned 41 and I had hot flashes for the 5th night in a row.

Since we turned 40 last year, he seems to be cruising along as normal. I however, am starting to feel like middle age is crashing down on me all at once.   The funny part is, I embraced 40.  I celebrated the clarity that came with age.  For the first time in my life, I didn't care what anyone thinks.  For two months, I thought 40 was the bees knees.

Then I got a chin hair and shit got real.

There's fresh wrinkles in places that were smooth six short months ago. I use the words "coincidentally" and "ergo" in conversation. I need to break up with Taco Bell.  There's Tums in the kitchen cabinet.  There's Tums on my night table. I have zero patience for anyone between the ages of 17-32. I can't remember my kids names when I'm yelling at them. I have yelled at neighbor kids. I'm pretty sure I fart in my sleep.  Suddenly I admire the housecoats Dorothy wore on The Golden Girls. Yesterday I ate 3 cupcakes and refused to put real pants on.

And now the hot flashes.  I haven't slept in five days. It's so freaking hot. 

Last night I hated my husband because he was clearly sucking up all the cool air through his pores and recycling it into hot air which mushroomed over me. I was dying a slow death, sweaty and clinging to the edge of the bed praying  he didn't roll over and try to touch me, or God forbid, breathe on me. I couldn't reach the remote to turn on the Golden Girls, so I lied there, hating how smug he looked in his sleep. Like it was his birthday or something. 

If this poor man can get through perimenopause with me, we can get through anything.

In honor of my husband's birthday, I raise a toast. At 41, he's just as adorable as he was at 24. Except at night, when he's sucking the air from the room.

He may not get hot flashes, but he doesn't judge me when I pretend my 3rd cupcake is my 2nd.  He watches The Golden Girls with me and farts in his sleep too.

Here's to Age. I'm just kidding, here's to cupcakes and no pants.