I can't stand the heat. I am the world's biggest baby when it comes to heat and humidity. Don't even get me started on the people who say, "It's not really the heat that's bad, it's the humidity." Hello? In our neck of the woods (as that great meteorologist Al Roker would say), the two almost always come hand-in-hand. We don't get that fabled "dry" heat you hear people who live in Arizona talking about. We get the slimy, pant-inducing, thick air 90% relative humidity heat. And this year we've had it for going on ten days in a row--right at the beginning of June. It's entirely wrong, of course, but where do you file those complaints?
The weather makes everyone cranky, but especially me. I become a slug, covered in a layer of post-sweat stickiness, incapable of any but the smallest movements. I laze around in front of a fan, reading as slowly as possible so I don't have to exert myself to turn pages any quicker than necessary. Of course, except for the fan part, that's pretty much what I'd do given the choice so I guess I should quit complaining and enjoy the excuse while I have it.
Wrong, Wrong, Wrong
9 hours ago