Welcome to the smell of melting asphalt, welcome to flying bugs that bite, and welcome to feeling like a gerbil in a microwave. Welcome to the South in summer.
Well, I'm not going to complain yet. It's been so exceptionally nice so far. "is it my imagination, or has it not sucked yet?" I asked Ron as we set out for the bus station the past several mornings. "I mean, it feels like spring out here. Or fall. What is the deal?" I'm in love. Ron says through the beginnings of an upper-lip snarl, as if someone is walking up to him quickly, and that someone owes him 50 bucks, he says with a familiar level of distrust "Yeaahh... stoopid summer."
Maybe it's the cooler weather, the lack of humidity in the air, or just the Claritan talking. But this spring has been extra mild. And I'd like to thank someone for that. By now, I should have broken into many a nasty sweat by 9a.m. in my sun-baked, crockpot car. I'm shocked. This must be what normal, seasonal weather is like. This must be why people hail the arrival of summer. This is very new and odd to me. It's nice. Very nice.
Even though I'm severely tempted, I'm still not getting out in the sun. I get a sunburn at a drive-thru. I'll burst into flames and dust, like a moth on a bug light. So I've found a nice way to tan my skin without killing myself and saving the retinas of all those around me. It works great. It does. And it doesn't smell like a chemical bath.
Don't get me wrong, I wish I could lay out by a pool like a turtle on a rock. But again, I'm really not into spontaneous combustion. All that would be left of me would be shins and shoes. And however much some people wish it, I'm not burning out of this existence on purpose. And if I do burst into flames one day because I watched one too many X-Files, then at least my shins will be safely tanned.
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