Yes, But It's a Wet Heat

"You've lived in the desert too long," my brother said after listening to me complain.

I never really notice how hot it gets out here.  I don't look at the temperature in the summer because if it's not cold, I'm okay.  When it's cold, I'm constantly checking the temperature to see when it will be warm.

One time, Trey and I came back from a walk and I was actually drained.  I was running out of energy and I thought, "It must be hot today."  I came in and checked the weather and it was over 100 degrees.  I was surprised.

Yesterday, it was in the 90s.  Here and in the city where we were.  We met my brother and his family for dinner.  I was sitting at the table waiting for the server to bring me a garden hose so that he didn't have to keep running back and forth refilling my drinks (yes, drinks, plural.  I had him refilling my water plus a raspberry/lime concoction because I could get two drinks at once and I was less likely to go without for very long). 

I took another drink of my fruity concoction sans umbrella and alcohol and I couldn't put the drink back down on the table.  Not because it was so good.  In fact, if the refills weren't free, I wouldn't have had seconds and thirds and fourths.  It was because my forearm was stuck to my biceps.

First of all, let me just say how gross that is.  I immediately looked around to see if the Red Robin had showers like truck stops do.  Just so you know, in case you were wondering, they don't.  Second, besides being gross, it's gross.  My whole body was sticky.  You could have hung me from the ceiling and used my body as fly paper except that it would fail because the flies would be like, "Dude, that stinks, what the hell is that?  I'm not landing on that."

I used my butter knife and slid it between the two parts of my arm apart and then threw the knife in the garbage.  That's when I started in about how yucky the humid weather was.  You ever stand up and deliberately not look down at the chair you were sitting on because you know there is going to be a line of sweat down there that is an exact match of your butt crack? 

Then once you realize that, you realize that in the humid places in a restaurant there must be germs from hundreds of sweaty butt cracks on the chair.  It makes me not want to sit down or to ask for some Clorox or something.  I might start carrying Lysol spray around with me.

I never really put much stock into the dry heat thing. 

"It's hot," I'd say.

"Yes, but it's a dry heat," the acclimated person would say.

"So is fire," I'd say.

I think I became a believer yesterday.  If we move back, my water bill is probably going to go up from the multiple showers that I take.  And saying that, I now remember why I would take 3 showers a day sometimes when I lived back that way.  I lived in that area for so long that it seemed normal (in an ocd normal kind of way). 

Does spraying anti-perspirant on your whole body work?