Too Darn Hot

Well, for most people. This is my ideal kind of weather – wake up and it’s 78, then it gets up in the 90s and stays there until late into the evening. When most people are melting, I’m sitting inside freezing and wishing I could be outside melting. Except I don’t really melt. I LIKE IT HOT. VERY HOT. It’s really only not ideal for it to be very hot for me when I have something dressy to go to, like a wedding or a funeral, and I’m trying to get ready in the VERY HOT, because dressy things like nice hair and dresses with long zippers do not really play well with humidity and hot. But other than that, bring it.

I went to Florida a couple of years ago around this time to visit one of my best friends. “It’s really, really hot down here,” she warned. “I know,” I told her, “I’m really looking forward to it.” We had been having one of our very rainy, cloudy, gray summers (again) and it just wasn’t hot enough for me. One day during our visit, we walked a few blocks over to her neighborhood pool to catch some rays and relax for about an hour before we had to go pick up her kids from school. When we were leaving, she was complaining about being all sweaty and I just kind of laughed. She reached back and felt the back of my neck: “YOU’RE NOT EVEN SWEATING!” she said, incredulously. LOL. It was comfortable to me. Really.

I’m even more comfortable in the dry heat. I vacationed in Arizona one year, in August, which is when a lot of residents leave because it gets too hot, even for them. I stood on my hotel balcony one night and felt really warm, all the way down to my core, and I remembered thinking how I should move here, because finally I felt WARM. ALL THE WAY. It was 116.

I think it’s a combination of my Greek side and poor circulation. What can I tell you.

In other news, two days out from my first running experiment in two years, and my thighs are still on fire from the lactic acid. I went for a slow, 45 minute walk last night to try to work some of it out, but all it did was further aggravate my plantar fasciitis, which is being REALLY stubborn despite all the icing, sleeping in boots, stretching the shit out of it, etc. I am now wearing tennis shoes to work, and wearing them all day unless I have a meeting. It’s gotten that bad. I may call my podiatrist to see if he will give me a steroid injection. Something’s gotta give.

Festival season is kicking into high gear, which means fairs are close behind. During fair season, I allow the redneck inside me to come out, the one who grew up in a town where people still got off school for the first day of hunting season and were part of 4H, raising cows and pigs for sale at the fair. I wear my cowboy boots more, and my hat, and a twang creeps into my speech when I’m not paying attention. Last year, I even went to see Merle Haggard and Kris Kristofferson at the state fair, a fair which is entirely too pristine and orderly for my tastes. They didn’t even have a tractor pull or demolition derby!

My best friend for many years in middle and high school was a girl whose Dad had a booth in the commercial building at fairs, so I accompanied her to at least a dozen fairs each year (and no, I never dated a carny, thank you). I got to know which counties had the best fairs, which stands had the best food, and was friendly with the old guy who made the French waffles, who had burn scars up and down both forearms. I also spent a considerable amount of time in middle school on a working farm, where a distant cousin of mine lived. We saddled and rode horses, brushing them down afterwards, slopped the hogs, milked cows, gathered eggs, and I went to my first ox roast. It was good, hard work but I was glad I only had to do it on the weekends. I remember distinctly the feeling of coming back to school on a Monday and it being hard to walk because my inner thighs were sore from riding all weekend, and the thighs on my jeans were starting to wear away from it.

It seems so long ago now.

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