When I feel like putting myself in an instant good mood, I look up the weather report for Jacksonville, Florida, my old home town. At the time of this writing, it’s 93 degrees with 100 percent humidity there. I remember those days.
You step outside and feel as if you’re being covered by a steaming hot, heavy, wet wool blanket. The air feels as thick as tapioca, and everything you do takes a thousand times more effort. Even breathing is difficult. You don’t have a clue why any tourist would want to be in this, but they still come in sweaty droves. You try to fool yourself into thinking you’ll get some relief after sunset, but no. Then it’s just dark and oppressive.
You can always tell a native. They’re the ones who walk in the shade and hop from one air conditioned oasis to another. Tan? Don’t be silly. That would require sitting in the sun. Forget that.
Here in Seattle, it’s going to be an unseasonably hot 80 degrees with 70 percent humidity, and people are complaining. It makes me giggle. I don’t even own an air conditioner. Why would I?
Despite Seattle’s rainy reputation, I spend a whole lot more time outdoors here than I ever did in Florida. The air is fresh and clean and free of bugs. It revitalizes you, rather than sucking the life force out of you. I take advantage of every drop of sunshine that comes my way.
I feel sorry for the friends I left behind, shriveling like raisins in the Florida sun. But on the other hand, some people deserve to be hotter than hell. I am happy to think of Andy Johnson, who stole $3,500.00 from me (read more about that here), sweating and suffering. It will be good practice for his afterlife.
But as for me, I’m glad I got out while I could.