Just got back from Arizona and man, if I hear one more person talk about the dry heat I think I’ll have to chew off my fingers. While I was there, temps hit 113. Wind that could roast a flank steak. Sidewalks that could fry bacon. Even at night, you could practically draw a warm bath just by leaving some water in the open air. People, dry heat is no picnic, and I’ve been saying it to anyone who’ll listen. Including my cabbie to Logan last Sunday. At 5am. Loudly.
So today I get off the plane and it’s all cool and overcast, and I’m like, ha, Arizona. Take that with your triple-digit lows. Then it starts raining, and I get a little more meh about things. Then I step out of my car into the humidity. Then I step INTO my parents’ house, baked as it has been in a staunch heat wave and left to stew, a congealed two-story terrarium without the tempering salve of central air, and I’m like, holy shit. Maybe there is something to this dry heat business after all.
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