New Jersey is a giant swamp that freezes solid in the winter. That’s what you get here; 90 degrees, humidity and mosquitoes, or a complete David Blain encasement in ice. Between those two seasons, there’s 18 days of rain and hail and maybe another 4 days when you can mow your lawn without getting heat stroke. Most of the east coast is like this and I’m starting to wonder if everyone living here is insane. Sure, California is going to fall into the Pacific Ocean sometime in the next 20 months, but it’s worth it not to have sweat dripping down your nose as you bend over to scratch a bloody bug bite on your ankle with the corner of a credit card. We’ve spent a total of maybe 7 hours on our patio this summer, and for 6.5 of those we were lighting tiki torches, spraying bug stuff and applying sunscreen. By the time you’re done with that fight, everyone needs to go inside for lemonade.
A little over an hour ago, I was caught in a hailstorm. It was sunny and 85 degrees (not one of my favorite climate conditions) and then, in a crack of a chicken’s claw (made that up, it’s supposed to mean super fast), there were slush balls pelting me on the head like the lord was having a little fun playing with spitwads and my patience. I thought I was about to be the first person to die in the apocalypse (an honor worth the suffering.) It came and went faster than a busy father at his step-daughter’s piano recital. The earth had taken a shot of Rumplemintz and promptly barfed it on my head.
I feel like I’m 75 years old and should just go to Florida and play golf. Actually, it’s probably too hot in Florida for me. I would be the 39 year old in the club house trying to get a bunch of 70 year olds to complain about the heat with me. “Hot one out there, eh fellas? I had to cut it short after 9.” They would look me up and down and then turn away in disgust to finish their conversation about the price of gold and the best putting stance when you can’t move your shoulder anymore. I’m left alone realizing I should have been born in Denmark.
You know where the temperature is perfect? The Mall. If there’s a place that’s outside, but has a mall climate, I’m moving there. Let me know. I like the outdoors, I just don’t like how it FEELS.Buy My Book! Indiebound
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