TSS: Too Much Sun-Day
Really, no, I am.
I’m not dying of heat stroke.
In many parts of the country and, indeed, the whole big blue and green globe, the months of summer are the outside months. They signal the start of lunching at sidewalk cafes, strolling in parks, surveying the goods at street fairs and farmers’ markets, weekend warrior attendance at an overstock of road races, climbing trees and rolling in the sweet, green grass.
Oh, dear, do you hear that noise?
Time to wake up, sweet thing; your alarm clock is going off and it’s time to greet the day.
Say, “Goodbye!” to dreamland and give a, ahem., very warm “Hello, there. Welcome!” to July in Atlanta!
Yes, it’s that time of year when even indoor dining requires minimal clothing, a headband and a shower before and after. Farmers markets and festivals know they need to happen in the early spring or wait until the relative coolness of October. Preschools and camps boast indoor water parks and dogs are given five-minute maximums on their outside time.
It’s the only stretch of time during the entire year when I find myself wondering, “Why on earth do I live here?”
Oh, right, because I’d rather be outside and active, in temperately appropriate clothing the other nine months out of the year than buy bulky clothing for a majority of my waking existence. I’d rather be able to bike to work, walk to the park with the boys and run with the dogs the week before Christmas than go through six months of cabin fever cum SAD. I’d rather sweat it out at Braves games with great seats for $5 bucks than sever my left arm for nosebleed seats at Fenway where I’d still have to wear a sweatshirt in June. (Note: Do I wish Fenway and the Sox would just move down here? I do. Will I ever move back just for them? I will not. Besides, it’s 2012; we have satellite radio in both of our cars and the MLB package on the teevee.)
I suppose there are things to hate and things to love about any climate, as can be said about any city. I’m quite certain that trying to go about normal business, battling temperatures of 113 for several straight days, falls under my mental filing category of “things I don’t particularly enjoy about the south”. It’s not very full but there it sits, along with the term “unsweet tea”, a regional insistence upon referring to licence plates as “tags” and calling all Northerners “Yankees” (please to see: Red Sox Fan).
Ah, well, all of this whining and complaining is making me sweaty, even after my first two showers of the day so I should wrap it up.
I hope that wherever you are, you’re staying cool in your favorite way and that your Fourth is filled with fun and sun (albeit not too much…of either).