I'm Saying It's Too Hot and You Can't Stop Me

I don't know why our local meteorologists persist in delivering long-winded forecasts these days when the weather can succinctly be summarized as "fucking hot." On to the traffic report.

Because I live in Chicago, I'm not supposed to complain about the blast furnace outside my door. I'm supposed to be happy it's 100 degrees and not 30 below. You know what, I'm not. I'll take the deep freeze over a heat wave any day.

My husband is fond of saying that I'm too cold until I'm suddenly too hot. The thing about being cold is that it's possible, especially in the age of the Snuggie, to warm up--just add layers. It also provides an excellent excuse to drink hot chocolate or stoke up the oven with a batch of cookies.

The thing about being too hot is that it's impossible in certain situations to get any cooler. Anyone who's ever stood on an "L" platform knows what I'm talking about.

There's a certain sense of adventure when it comes to braving the cold. You put on your parka, pull up your boots, add scarf, hat and mittens and tell Mother Nature to bring it on. It's exhilarating to push your shoulder into the wind, to wade through a snow drift, to feel icicles forming on your nose hairs. You feel like an explorer, conquering the South Pole.

By contrast, there's nothing fun about the heat. Forget a sense of adventure, there's no sense at all other than of being hot, hot, hot. We were walking to brunch yesterday and I had to tell Dave to stop trying to engage me in conversation--I was too busy concentrating on the line of sweat running from my boobs down my abdomen. (Don't get me started on sweat. That's a whole other topic.) Where the cold puts a bounce in my step, the heat makes me feel like I'm moving slow-motion through molasses--when I feel like moving at all.

I'm not saying I'd like the climate to be stalled on perpetual February. Don't get me wrong, February sucks. But so does July and for the most part August. It's just that in February, you look out the window and think, what a cozy night to stay in, pop some popcorn and watch a movie. In July, you look out the window and think, sure would love to go for a walk or a bike ride or sit at an outdoor cafe and read a book and show off my cute new sandals. But it's too fucking hot.

See you in September.