Heat Wave

Most people greet summer with cheers along the lines of “Woohoo, let’s go boating, bitches!” 

My reaction sounds more like “Ugh, what did I do to deserve an early trip to Hell?”

Sure my trip to the hottest place in the Universe is guaranteed (my throne is waiting) & I may have grown up in the only place in Canada that is officially designated a desert (cacti, rattlesnakes, and 40°C are the norm), but that doesn’t mean that I handle temperatures above 20°C well. Starting in early May I refuse to wear closed-toe shoes (don’t even say “sock” to me), daily showers multiply (thank goddess my apartment doesn't water meter), and constant litany of complaints accompanies every drop of sweat that the climbing temperature causes. 

Common phrases include: 

“If only public nudity was acceptable and I didn’t have morals” 

“You can’t make me go outside.”

“Why didn’t I buy a real air conditioner last year when they were on sale?”

“I’m only going to the mall [again] because they have air conditioning”

“Goddamnit, that’s a third tan line, even with the SPF 110!”

But the most common phrase out of my mouth is always “Is it Autumn yet; I miss _____.” (Fill in the blank with variations of my winter wardrobe/hot food/sleeping properly/not sweating off my make-up).

Thankfully we’re only a few short weeks away from Labour Day and the onset of another Saskatchewan Winter. Oh joy for the lack of heat, but then again I’ll likely be complaining about that too. (As my mother always said: “If [you] got paid to complain, you wouldn’t have to work ever again!”) Until that happens though, you can find me planted in front of my fan, with an iced tea with lime in one hand and a bowl of ice cream in the other. 

*Antistar dress in the style of Emilio Pucci; Windmere fan