Hot Flashes and Jalapeño Chips: A Hot Mess Night Out

I went out with some friends last night. I was an hour late, ‘fashionably’ I told myself, though in reality I looked like a mess, a hot mess. I had microneedling done in the morning, so my face looked like I lost a fight with a cheese grater. I was so red and scaly, it hurt to smile. I was in desperate need of a gin and tonic (current vibe, taking a short hiatus from tequila.)Naturally, by the time I arrived, the food was already on the table and the conversation was in full swing. I dove into a slice of pizza and some fried zucchini with tzatziki, like I hadn’t eaten since 2005. I could’ve licked the plate, but I’m working on being "socially acceptable."The topics of discussion? A deep dive into school, kids, homework, dance, hating dance, loving dance, dance-related trauma, and more dance. So far, so good.And then, the vibe quickly shifted.Suddenly, every woman at the table started fanning themselves furiously with the menu to battle a collective hot flash tsunami. They had rosy cheeks, glistening foreheads, and a debate on who had it worse. It was like a hormonal Hunger Games. I observed. I looked around...