“Winter’s coming. You can feel it in the wind, can’t you?”
I was making lift conversation with a woman whose name I don’t know, but with whom I share the lift (and have done so for the past gazillionty-ten years) often. She gets off on the J-floor, I continue to the K.
“Yes,” she said, shaking her long hair out. I noticed the beautiful grey streaks in it. “I’m eternally grateful for that wind at this stage.” She looked at me, conspiratorially. “For the flushes. It’s a relief. You wouldn’t know yet, though. Just wait.”
I laughed. “I’m not far behind you.”
And I’m not. I know this because it’s like a little secret society – The Menopausals. When you’re twenty (or thirty), the lovely lady in the lift would never mention the flushes. It’s only when you look like you may be heading that way, or are already there, that this becomes acceptable lift conversation.