A while ago, (I can’t remember exactly when, but that’s the Big M for you.), I wrote that menopausal women should not fly. In airplanes. Jet lag can make an already cranky goddess downright vicious.

Yet, now that the worst of the hot flashes, moodswings, and brain fog are in my rear view mirror, I can truly say that I love air travel, particularly long flights. Okay, I hate the packing and the obsessing and the security lines and the endless crap leading up to the flight. But once I’m in my seat and have snapped the buckle of my seatbelt into place, I am a happy woman.

No one can reach me. No phone, no email, no faxes, no doorbell. Plane flights are a modern day version of the old ads from the seventies where a woman indulges in a bubble bath to escape the cares of the day. "Calgon, take me away…….." While there are no bubbles, there are "attendants" who shut the world out when they close the door handle and bring you cool drinks. And not a few of them are menopausal goddesses themselves.

I climbed on such a flight a few days and nine time zones ago. My initial flight was diverted due to bad weather and we sat on the tarmac in San Antonio, Texas. Needless to say, we had those little air vents cranked to maximum. Then the weather cleared and we took off for Dallas, our original destination. In minutes, the cabin was FRIGID. (aka just right.)

People were starting to complain when the honeyed tones of a southern flight attendant explained that the A/C was working now that we were in the air and if cold, all we needed to do was close down our little vents. "And if you’re menopausal, honey, just open it up all the way and enjoy."

I love menopausal women. And flight attendants. And I love that we are not afraid to talk about the Big M anymore. American Airlines, take me away……….