A full week before summer officially begins and I’m already hoping for its end. I dread the onset starting at the end of the last summer, but I try to block out the possibility of the first mid-90s day and go along my merry way. I try to enjoy the nice spring days, going to the park and walking outside in the evenings. Every year, it sneaks up on me and kicks me in the ass. Every year, it seems like winter has just ended and then comes that first day when I look at the weather and it says Feels like 99. I nearly die just thinking about leaving the house.
(Side Note: What is up with that whole “feels like” b-s anyway? How do they determine what it is? Do they have a super secret spy like thermometer to read these things? Shouldn’t the temperature be the temperature? But I digress)
Oh yes. I trotted my sick butt out of the house, crossed the surface of the sun parking lot and escaped to the mall. The one with a parking garage so the car wouldn’t be sitting out in the sun. And I wandered around in the air conditioning.
Just like every other person in all of St Louis. Or so it seemed.
I say to summer though: bring it. I was pregnant last year and I survived. I worked one place that the A/C only worked two-thirds of the time and another that it worked all the time but the crazies customers complained about it being too cold so we would turn it down and then all the employees would be dripping sweat. WTF? It’s a hundred degrees outside and I really don’t think you want me perspiring in your lunch. Just saying. I’ll survive this summer and next year, I’ll forget just how bad it is and I will be just as surprised when that first hot day hits.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, my underwear is plastered with sweat in my butt crack and I need to take care of that.
I’m sure you didn’t actually want to know that.