When Matt and I first decided to move back to the South.... not the South from which we've previously lived... not the South of which we'd placed ourselves in good old North Carolina from the Rockies of Colorado, I knew a dirty little secret about this South that I didn't consider divulging to my mister. And, let me tell ya... there's lots of dirty little secrets about this place. That said, there was no malicious intent when I didn't share this tidbit of info. I mean, he'd been here before. He'd been in the thick of it. The thought of mentioning it never crossed my mind.
But, every single day of the summer, Matt has acted like he had no idea just how mother flipping hot it is in South Carolina. H.O.T. hot. Sooooo hot. Hot enough to not only fry eggs on the sidewalk, but actually boil those suckers. This summer has been a mean one, folks, just plain mean. Mean enough to keep every air conditioning company afloat for the next 29-some-odd years. They wouldn't even know that there's trouble with the economy with the business they've been getting.
Honestly, it doesn't bother me much. I grew up here in the land of the humid oven. When I first decided to make my move to the desert in Utah, I was a little intimidated by the 115 + degree temperatures. I quickly learned, though, that place has nothing on South Carolina. Nothing. There... there is no humidity. Dry 120 degree weather is nothing compared to 99 degrees here. Nothing. Sitting under a small piece of sage in the middle of Arches National Park can bring you far more relief than lying beneath a sprawling old oak tree in Columbia any day of the week. This is no lie.
Still, being of the hottest of the hot in the South, I'm able to deal. Matt, however, is not. It's as if I brought an Eskimo into the Sahara. And, he makes sure to remind me of it every stinking hot ass day. Like today... when the heat index got up to 115... you'd have thought the sky was falling. He walked in, covered in sweat and anxiety. Fear, not perspiration, was literally dripping out of his eyes. Chicken Little, I mean Matt, panicked, "What are we gonna do?" I was starting to think a tsunami was fast approaching, and we had to make a quick getaway. The reaction was a little unfounded since we have a great big lake and a pool at our disposal. And, everyone blames Ella's drama on me. Huh.
Regardless, 115 degrees plus a boatload of humidity is a smidgen hard to stomach. I know this. There's a reason I keep the blinds closed and water the plants twice a day. Funnily enough, when I looked out the window while I was on the stair climber at the gym, I saw a glimpse of Fall. A teeny tiny glimpse...and just for a second...because there is no way the season of cooling is even making its approach in this state in August.
But, it was good to see. Cool is on the way... albeit a good month and a half away... but it's coming.
But, every single day of the summer, Matt has acted like he had no idea just how mother flipping hot it is in South Carolina. H.O.T. hot. Sooooo hot. Hot enough to not only fry eggs on the sidewalk, but actually boil those suckers. This summer has been a mean one, folks, just plain mean. Mean enough to keep every air conditioning company afloat for the next 29-some-odd years. They wouldn't even know that there's trouble with the economy with the business they've been getting.
Honestly, it doesn't bother me much. I grew up here in the land of the humid oven. When I first decided to make my move to the desert in Utah, I was a little intimidated by the 115 + degree temperatures. I quickly learned, though, that place has nothing on South Carolina. Nothing. There... there is no humidity. Dry 120 degree weather is nothing compared to 99 degrees here. Nothing. Sitting under a small piece of sage in the middle of Arches National Park can bring you far more relief than lying beneath a sprawling old oak tree in Columbia any day of the week. This is no lie.
Still, being of the hottest of the hot in the South, I'm able to deal. Matt, however, is not. It's as if I brought an Eskimo into the Sahara. And, he makes sure to remind me of it every stinking hot ass day. Like today... when the heat index got up to 115... you'd have thought the sky was falling. He walked in, covered in sweat and anxiety. Fear, not perspiration, was literally dripping out of his eyes. Chicken Little, I mean Matt, panicked, "What are we gonna do?" I was starting to think a tsunami was fast approaching, and we had to make a quick getaway. The reaction was a little unfounded since we have a great big lake and a pool at our disposal. And, everyone blames Ella's drama on me. Huh.
Regardless, 115 degrees plus a boatload of humidity is a smidgen hard to stomach. I know this. There's a reason I keep the blinds closed and water the plants twice a day. Funnily enough, when I looked out the window while I was on the stair climber at the gym, I saw a glimpse of Fall. A teeny tiny glimpse...and just for a second...because there is no way the season of cooling is even making its approach in this state in August.
But, it was good to see. Cool is on the way... albeit a good month and a half away... but it's coming.
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