Okay, I love the heat. I cut my hair short enough to see my scalp peaking through around all the edges. I switched back to anti-perspirant, even though there are enough extra chemicals in it to shield the space shuttle on re-entry.
* DISCLAIMER – GRAPHIC IMAGERY AHEAD *
I even compute in my underwear in my old not-too-well air-conditioned two-story house. You get used to the “shrrrik!” sound as your flesh rips up off the faux-leather Sam’s Club chair.
I’ve got a huge glass of water sitting by and I’m even eating my pop-tarts untoasted. Hell, I’ll take all this over snow any day. You know what I can’t stand?
“It’s not the heat, it’s the humidity.”
Ahhh! If I have to hear one more sweaty-browed, pit-stained person say this to me like it’s some sort of heat-miser epiphany, I’m going to freaking kill somebody!
And I’ll get off on the charges too, man… Because it’s the heat, you know…
It makes you crazy.