No, I’m not the Wicked Witch of the whatever direction it is that doesn’t like water and reacts badly to a little improvisational comedy in the vein of the Three Stooges. That is, the one that melts when water gets thrown on her.
I’m just talking about the heat.
That terrible, horrible heat.
Most of the country has been under a heat warning the last couple of days. I came back from Florida, where the temperature was 93 degrees, and home to North Carolina, where a temperature of 104 degrees greeted me.
To make matters worse, this was the day Casa De Dude hosted a family reunion of the wonderful folks on the side of the family belonging to my wife, known to me and braggingly known now to her family as She Who Must Be Obeyed. And it was hosted outdoors.
Yeah, we set up the party in the heat. Got out the plates and tables and drinks and party games and suchlike in the heat. We cooked in the heat. And then, when everybody else arrived, we had the party outdoors in the heat. If our backyard wasn’t a miniature forest for all the trees, I’m sure somebody would have melted.
My favorite ice cream dessert I make, Heavenly Layers, basically melted just moments after I cut the pieces and put them on the plate. And that was indoors.
Dude, I have no idea how people managed to survive life before air conditioning, much less wearing all the thick clothing for which those years were known.
Not me, dude. Not me.
And with that whine, I’m headed indoors to stay. Somebody can crack me out of the house once the temperatures go back down to tolerable, somewhere around 95 degrees. I won’t like it, but I can live with it.
What more could I ask?