The Breeze

            In the supermarket next to the checker’s cash register sat a miniature fan.

            It wasn’t the type of miniature you might place in a curio cabinet or set up on a shelf, just to look at.

            This was a working heavy duty machine, that provided a welcome breeze to a woman  plaqued  by the villains of the menopausal flash.

            I questioned her about it, because of its size, which looked to be about seven inches tall and about four inches wide and was incased in a slick plastic black tower, which made it look like an air purifier. Then  I wondered why she would need one in this perfectly clean market I had frequented for years.

            She told me that two years ago she had the same thought, and she was desperate for a solution, until the salesman in the electronic store turned it on and melted her perspiration away.

“Wow,” she said. “What a powerhouse this is in such a tiny body.”

He told her; by using the casement of one of their little air purifiers they could add enough power fore a strong flow of air and still keep a small foot print, which would allow it to fit almost anywhere.           

 She said she’d take it and never looked back.

            “When the flashes started they came every fifteen minutes and didn’t care if I was sleeping or at work. No matter what time of day, the sweat would pour off my face and drip onto my clothes. I must have registered eighty degrees. This fan was then and still is a lifesaver.”

            I smiled and was glad she found a solution.

           Just before I was about to pay for my groceries, she asked me if the breeze bothered me.

            With both thumbs pointed up, I answered in solidarity,  “No, I get it.”

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