Welcome to August. Now we have officially reached us some “dog days.” The thermometer has more or less been hovering near the 90-degree or higher mark for some time, and my grass has gotten to the point where the manual addition of water will be required to keep it from becoming as brown and crunchy as a bowl of Raisin Bran just before getting hit with the 2%. Two ounces of milk in raisin bran, though, instantly yields cold sludge with hard purple bonus nuggets. In contrast, the application of 600 gallons of water to my lawn usually has no apparent effect.
It’s almost as if the water is going being teleported somewhere. Perhaps the aliens are stealing it. I’m not sure why they’d want the water from my yard, but I suppose it’s possible they’re a bunch of practical jokers.
It’s just as well this way; I don’t much like it when my grass grows anyhow.
So where was I? Ah, yes. I believe I’ve officially reached that point with summer that you typically get at the 17th day of a three-week in-home visit from extend family. Sure, you love them all, even stinky Uncle Stinky, and that first week when you’re visiting all the local museums and dining at all the key hometown restaurants is great. But then you slide into that second week and start struggling to come up with ways in which to entertain your guests, short of passing a bottle of tequila. This is usually about the same time that their kids start finger painting with pudding on your family room walls and you notice that someone…you wouldn’t dare say who…but someone always seems to forget when they shower somebody has to actually pay for all that water, and yes, forty-five minutes of continuous shower steam isn’t really good for wallpaper…or dry wall. Oh, and all that steam means it’s a cold shower for you, my boy.
Yeah, so by the time you reach the midway point of that third week, sure, you still love your darling extended family, but if they don’t hit the road and let you get back to your normal routine soon, someone is going to get hurt.
That’s pretty much where I am with summer. I do realize that in the beginning, roughly May-ish, it was all sunshine, rainbows, and fabulous trips
to the pool. But I’m tired of being hot and sticky when I get home from work. I’d like to walk outside and not immediately feel the need to replace my entire outfit with something less damp. The damnable shame of it all is that I’ve still got about two months of 80+ degree weather coming this way. After that, if I’m lucky, we’ll get 6.33 days of moderate weather before it becomes cold enough to freeze a bull’s nuts solid.
Nobody wants that.
Maybe I should consider moving someplace that isn’t just polar extremes of hot and cold. There are places in the US where you average temperature is something moderate, right? Where are those places? San Francisco? New England? I dunno. I sure would like some ideas though, because I’ve had enough of this crap.
I’m going to go stare lovingly at my fall jacket and think fondly of the first day it’ll brisk enough to make my nose run, just a little. Of course, I’ll probably be sweating as I do it. Wake me when it’s mid-October.