As soon as the temperature inches above 60º the whining and bellyaching begins. Ohmygawd, it’s so hot … it’s like an oven … a steam bath … a sauna … an incinerator … the depths of hell … and on and on. What a bunch of babies.
Snap out of it.
This, boys and girls, is summer on planet Earth. It’s supposed to be hot. Move to the Mall of America if you long for an unchanging, climate-controlled, recirculated environment. That seems to be the direction we’re moving, you know, to a vacuum-packed lifestyle. We hurry from air conditioned homes to air conditioned cars to air conditioned jobs to air conditioned yoga classes to air conditioned juice bars. Griping every damn step of the way.
Roll down a window. Breathe fresh air. Break an actual sweat, it’s good for you. I’ll tell you who deserves to complain: roofers, that’s who. Road crews. Squirrels, what with their fur and all. Not people who dash between hermetically sealed comforts. Air conditioning has turned us into a bunch of sissies; soft, weak, mollycoddled sissies.
Maybe if everybody stopped complaining the temperature would drop, did you ever think of that? Tons of hot air streams out of our big mouths every time we speak. Meteorologists aren’t helping matters, either. They make it worse with their heat indices, factoring in humidity levels and wind speed and such to arrive at grossly inflated ‘Feels Like’ temperatures. They’ve even coined a fiery, new term: heat dome. I guess plain, old-fashioned heat wave just wasn’t sensational enough.
You know what worries me? Summer will hear the bad mouthing and leave, go somewhere it feels welcome. So knock it off. If you don’t like the heat, stick your head in an ice bucket and pretend it’s winter.
copyright © 2016 little ittys