I think I have always been one of the most cold-blooded people I know. Right now our bed has two blankets plus a comforter and the heat is set at 70 degrees. I kid you not. I usually sleep with socks on. On some winter nights I put the covers up over my head or wear a hooded-sweatshirt to keep my ears warm.
I used to joke that whenever I reached that FAR DISTANT time of my life when other women experience hot flashes, I would finally be normal. Just when I would reach that illusive milestone was a bit of a mystery. I had a hysterectomy nearly 9 years ago (and have been thoroughly delighted to live without a certain severe monthly visitor) but my good little ovaries have kept on clicking and ticking. I figured I might just skip that life stage altogether.
Nope. I am flashing right along with the best of you. Unlike TV's Chuck my flashes don't result in any instantaneous abilities to do karate or see through solid objects. They just make me unbelievably hot -- and when they're over I'm back to needing my jacket.
What I should do, I guess, is use those intense moments to remember to pray for our kids and for orphans.