It’s not the heat, you know. It’s the humidity.


Actually, it’s both the heat and the humidity.


Though, to be honest, it’s a more like the heat, the humidity, and the sweat that gushes from every pore of your body as soon as you step outside. And then it dries. And then your skin is crusty like the Bonneville Salt Flats.


Well, that’s not quite right either. It’s the heat and humidity, for sure. Then you add the sweat. But there’s also a mental component. You know, “Good God, it’s freakin’ hot.” Or, “Am I dying?”


Hmm. Missing something. So we have (1) heat, (2) humidity, (3) drenching sweat, (4) possible heat stroke and … I’ve got it: (5) extreme irritability.


No, no. “Extreme” is wrong. “Murderous” irritability. Yea, that’s it.


Of course that’s just a figure of speech. You get that, right? If, say, you were to read one day a news article about a red-faced, sweat-soaked, bald-headed man in Atlanta who attacked an entire landscape crew of men with machines strapped to their backs, whining machines, incessantly whining gas-powered machines that belch out fumes and won’t stop, just won’t ever, ever, ever stop … it won’t be me.


Because I don’t mind the heat. It’s really the humidity that’s the problem.


One thought on “Hot

  1. We don’t do hot in Savannah. We do oven roasted broiled braised chainsaw charred heat. Walking into courthouse at 830, I said to the total stranger nearby: I think I am getting used to 107 degrees. Reply: I was doing good with 99.

    Sent from my iPhone


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