I have rabies. Okay, not really, but, I might as well since my symptoms closely resembles it –- foaming at the mouth, the desire to lunge for the throat of the nearest person, profuse sweating. It’s called peri-menopause.

One morning, I woke up with an overwhelming desire to assault my husband with barbeque utensils. He woke up to find me staring at him, disgusted.

“Uh, Sharie, what are you doing?”

“Why do you care?”

“Because you are holding a barbeque brush and meat tongs, and that’s scary strange.”

“I don’t know,” I blurted in tears. I knew something might be wrong. I went to a MALE doctor, who smugly said, “You’re at the beginning stage of the change of life –- nothing to worry about.”

“So, I shouldn’t worry I’d rather smother you with that pillow than look at you?”

“No. Your body’s beginning a new phase, one that can be an exciting time.”

Blink. Blink.

“Where’s that meat fork,” my mind said.

“Mrs. Derrickson, this is a natural process. Many find it a pleasant and freeing time, a new chapter when they’re comfortable with their womanhood.”

Blink. Blink.

“I wonder what he’d look like with that stethoscope rammed up his nose. Man, it’s hot in here.”

“There are some uncomfortable symptoms, but a positive attitude is key.”

Blink. Blink.

“I have a positive attitude,” my inner voice said. “I’m positive I’m going to burst into flames right here. Why’s it so hot in here? What does he have the heat set at, cremate? Positive attitude… I’ve got your positive attitude time right here buddy.”

So, I decided to take a closer look at this stage of a woman’s life, the stage right before the alien chews its way out of her stomach and then devours all in its path.

Peri, I’ve learned, is Latin for “Why’s it so &@(% hot in here?” and menopause means “Don’t touch me.”

It appears that women have been dealing with this “blessing” since the Garden of Eden. Eve attacked the snake in a rampage because he said that her jeans made her butt look big. Then, she fed the snake to Adam for dinner in a casserole saying, “Here -– choke on this.”

But, since Eve, there’ve been discoveries giving us a greater understanding of the processes, as explained by the brochure the doctor handed to me before he drew his last breath.

It read: “Welcome to peri-menopause. You’re about to embark on a new adventure you may find both liberating and rewarding.”

Hmmmm. Now, who writes this stuff? It sounded more like a travel brochure than a medical brochure.

“While some women find this stage to be a pleasant one, some women experience some of the following ‘nuisances’:

“Forgetfulness, excessive hairiness, bloating, weight gain, mood swings, night sweats and hot flashes, feelings of isolation, insomnia, lack of energy, forgetfulness, irrational fears, headaches, achy joints, uncontrollable desires to punch someone, tearfulness, dry skin, bleeding gums, acne, wrinkles, loss of muscle tone, eyesight changes, nightmares, and rage.”

“Oh goodie,” I said. “I’m so excited to be entering this new liberating and rewarding chapter of my life.” Snarl.

“Your body is ceasing production of every hormone that makes you feminine. Eventually, your DNA will closely resemble that of a Yeti’s.”

That night, I dreamed of hunting down the brochure writer and flogging him with a ham. Why a ham, I have no idea. I show up at the brochure company, armed with my Hormel and say, “Yes, I’d like to meet the person who wrote this stupid brochure, please.”

She pushes the intercom button. “Yes, Harold, there’s a lady here who’d like to see you about a brochure you wrote.” Pause. “You can go back to cubicle 52 on the left.”

So, dragging my ham, I lumber back like a Yeti to cubicle 52. “Are you Harold?” I say to the guy.

“Yes.”

“Do you even KNOW any women?”

“No.”

“That’s what I thought.” I then flog him with my ham. “Take that -– and that -– and that,” I said, swinging the ham. It was a strange dream.

Anyway, I came home from the doctor with my brochure, peeling off my clothes and opening all the windows. “It’s hot as Hades in here,” I said as my family sat at the table in parkas.

“So what did the doctor say?” my husband said.

“I have rabies.”

“Oh, thank goodness -– we thought maybe it was menopause.”

Blink. Blink.

“What’s for dinner?” my husband asked.

“Ham,” I said. “A nice, big ham.”