We, especially we, live in perpetual comfort. If it's a little muggy, we switch on the A/C. If it's a little chilly, we switch on the heat. We use the kids as an excuse - babies, after all, can't re-cover themselves in the cold . . . or they might overheat in the, well, heat.
But not this year. Though I still can't hardly believe it, we have not yet turned on the A/C in our home. Where we live, in NC, A/C is a necessity. They've had A/C down here since before the Civil War - it's one of the reasons Sherman (ptoo, ptoo) marched. It's been a mild spring, but even so we've had some doozies.
Right now, mid-morning, it's 80 and muggy and I'm sweating profusely - most pig-like. I'm an XX-Largish guy, though for comfort (for me and for others) I go for the triple-X size. I sweat big. But I've always sweated easily, even when I was an underwear model for Calvin Klein.
So where was I? Ah, yes, it's 80 and I'm sweating. I smell, of course, like a dozen masculine roses, but I am a little slick. It's supposed to get into the low 90s today and I'm seriously considering flipping on the A/C. Last night was intolerably hot in the house and as soon as the kids were all in bed, I began haunting the house in my skivvies. Laura went to bed. Who can blame her?
Even so, I held out and did not turn on the A/C as I slid the recliner into the middle of the living room and watched three episodes of 24.
Will has a doctor's appointment at 3:30, so I might hold off till we get home.
Who am I kidding? My fingers are slipping off the keys.