TITLE: I Hate Summer
By Donna Wasson
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Ok, ok, I can’t take it anymore! I’ve tried and I just can’t do it. It’s too feakin’ hot here in Atlanta. Actually, it’s “too hot” pretty much everywhere in the USA with the exception of perhaps, a small section of North Dakota. However, if it hits 65 degrees fahrenheit, it’s a blistering day to them, so they don’t count.
My husband and I are in the infinitesimally small minority of American adults who despise hot weather. Especially hot, humid weather. We are very fair skinned and, therefore, do not sunbathe or worry about being tan like most folks. We only go to the beach in the off season when it’s cooler. The fact that it’s cheaper and less crowded only makes it nicer. You will never, ever catch us standing in line at an amusement park in the summer time.
So why do we choose to live in “Hotlanta”? Up until May 31, 2007 when my stepson graduated high school, it had to do with staying in close proximity to his mother. Now, we stay because my husband has a great job that he loves.
We pay a steep price for that job, though. We could be living on the West Coast, in or north of San Francisco. I can deal with rain. Really. I cannot deal with the summers in the southeast. Summer is the wrong word because our summer season lasts from around the first of May through the end of October. I can’t tell you how many times we’ve taken our son trick-or-treating wearing shorts and t-shirts.
So, five months out of the year it’s abject misery. Now hear me, and hear me good; it is now August, the height of torment. It is too hot to go out boating on the lake. It’s too hot to fish. It’s even too hot to swim! Literally! You step into our huge community pool and it’s warmer than most showers I take. The dog resists going outside to do his business!
So, how do we cope? We run from the air-conditioned house to the air-conditioned car to go to the air-conditioned store or movie theatre or bowling alley or wherever we happen to be going.
We are more than happy to sacrifice to the air-conditioning god. This takes the form of a substantial contribution to our electric company every month and in return, we are able to keep our home at a constant, and very low humidified 70 degrees. This is cold enough that our glasses will immediately fog up the second we step outside.
One August, several years ago, my spouse and I looked at each other and decided to get the heck out of Dodge. We dropped our son off at Grandma’s and we flew to San Francisco for a week of nirvana.
We were giddy at having to purchase light jackets to cope with the strong breeze off of the bay. I remember sitting on a bench, overlooking the water and announcing, “I’m not going home. You’ll have to go home, sell the house and get Ben (our son) and come back, because I’m not going back to that oven”! Of course that didn’t happen, but I really did cry when the plane lifted off as we headed home.
So, here I find myself, once again, suffering through an Atlanta August. My birthday is later this month, and I'm always amazed at the fact that my Mom was nine months pregnant with two other children to chase, facing childbirth in an un-air-conditioned hospital room with no epidural. Talk about nuts! Makes me wonder how the human race survived for so long.
I think I might have a solution though. I hear no one is living in Alcatraz….Hmm.
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