HHH

Hazy. Hot. Humid.

Because it's not hot enough when the temperature is in the nineties - no, we need to dump a trillion gallons of swampy moisture into the atmosphere. Awesome.

Who can stand it? Who are these people that thrive in humidity? Oh it doesn't bother me, I like the heat! Yeah? Well I'm just trying to keep my lungs functioning while bent awkwardly into a car that has GOT to be a thousand degrees to buckle Scarlett into her car seat. Immediately trying to cool down and immersed in the Honda AC, I come across handfuls of joggers along my route. REALLY? Hey, joggers, knock it off! I applaud that you are fit and 'live to run' - I truly do - but you make me uncomfortable. I can't help but picture you collapsing into a puddle of your own horror and promptly frying on the broiling concrete like a hairy, tank-top-clad egg. Can't you skip a day? Or use a treadmill? Man alive, you are just asking for trouble... and paramedics.

I love the people who barely show a bead of sweat too. Sure they complain that they are roasting yet there is no physical evidence to back up the claim. I'm one of the lucky girls who sweats primarily on her face. It's pretty awesome that everyone I come in contact with can tell that I'm a second away from dumping a cup of lemonade over my head. First, right around my eyebrows, then my upper lip and hairline. It's all very sophisticated. I'm not self conscious about it at all, honest. Throughout my life I've listened to my friends tell me, "Oh, you're so lucky you don't sweat under your arms! I ruin all my shirts!" Really? I'm lucky? You meet people with a matte face of makeup intact and you're panicking because you can't break out into the Y-M-C-A or someone may notice your pit-stain? You're right. I am lucky. I get to miss most of a conversation because I'm focused so hard on when I can break eye contact and make my next 'spin around and wipe my forehead' move. And while I loathe my upper arms I am forced to wear sleeveless shirts because I have to choose comfort over my own crazy. Yet it never fails, temps can be well into the eighties and I see people wearing hoodies. I understand in some offices it can get very chilly sitting still all day while the boss cranks the AC to frosty levels. BUT I'm talking people waiting for the bus, walking up the avenue - in the hottest direct sun of the day. In skinny jeans and sweatshirts. Huh?? Jeans?? Like full length jeans from hip to ankle. Stuck to your leg as close-fitting as possible. I can't. I just can NOT. Do what you gotta do, people, but you're blowing my mind... and kinda pissing me off.

Anyway, I feel badly for the hard-working, physical laborers on these nastiest of days. My husband included. They run themselves ragged, in and out of hot trucks, sitting in traffic with no air to cool them down and hardly a breeze - at least not one that isn't ninety-eight degrees. And the roofers! Oh, the roofers. You may as well be on the equator. Standing up there all close to the sun. Waves of heat just radiating all around you. Skin the color of brick. I couldn't do it. I just couldn't do it.

Kudos to all who spend their days out in the triple-H with little relief. Your next Del's is on me. (Just kidding, Ain't nobody got money for that).