The one thing stopping home usually does for me is solidify my resolve to never be in Arizona between February 1st and November 30th. The only bearable months are December and January.
The reason? I can't handle the heat. CAN. NOT. I sweat like a middle aged horse going through menopause while sitting in a sauna. (Horses sweat the most of all mammals, after humans...I Googled it.) I can wring out my hair. And fill cups. No hairstyle is safe on my head when it's hot out.
Well, apparently my youngest nephew takes pride in the fact that he's also a head sweater. That doesn't look right, does it? Head sweater?
Anyway...this week at one of the kids' baseball games, my mother said that Little J came up to her, after scootering around the park with his helmet on, to show her how much he was sweating.
"Nana, look at my head!" he said, as he ran his hand through his hair, then showed it to her to demonstrate how wet it was. "It's soaking wet."
"Wow," my mother said, "Now you are sweating just like Aunt Salena. Her hair gets all wet like that when she comes to Tucson."
"I know. Isn't it awesome??" he said. And then he jumped on his scooter and sailed away.
I wish I could be that casual. Instead, my head is boiling and looks like a baseball teetering on top of my body; it's small because my hair is plastered to the sides of it. I'm unbalanced. I can't have that. I am a woman who needs height and body in my 'do. Modern bouffantiness, if you will.
Can I just say how joyful I am that winter is just around the corner. You don't even KNOW.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
1 YEAR AGO: Eddie Watching Boats And Waiting For Brisket Friday
2 YEARS AGO: It’s Probably Best Not To Piss Off The Devil
3 YEARS AGO: Reminders For Morons
4 YEARS AGO: Feasting With Saints And Sinners
5 YEARS AGO: We Live In The Signpost Forest
2 comments:
The humidity is what kills me now as it makes it almost impossible for me to breathe. I don't mind the sweating as much as not being able to breathe!
Head sweater. That's called a hat. : )
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