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Freaks of Nature

Why does heat bring out the freak in people? Global warming, yikes, are we in trouble. Nature’s got the heat turned up HIGH in the valley today. Not crazy 120+ degrees sweltering but enough so outdoor activities are not fun. I had trouble sleeping last night, tossing and turning, bad dreams about yelling at Modern Frome and all-around feverish. Maybe it was the omelet and homefries I ate at nine o’clock. But sudden changes in atmospheric conditions majorly disorient me. I’m not typically a fan of showing a lot of skin but when that mercury hits a certain degree who really cares? I don’t gratuitously flash. I’m just too practical to be one of those people who refuses to get out of jeans because “I don’t like the way my legs look.” I’m down with my legs and don’t even mind the missing hunk of my right knee due to a 1989 run in with a glass door. (But I do mind if you say, “hey what’s that?” and touch the scar because all the nerves are messed up in that region. Keep your hands to yourself, pervs!)

I don’t tend to run errands when it’s hot out because my car doesn’t have air-conditioning. I tried to stop being a cheapskate and get it recharged last year but as my car is sweet 16, the A/C model is too old and the chemicals kill nature. So, I’m SOL until I get a whole new system which knowing my broke self will be never. People like to say well you have a convertible, just put the top down. Thanks, genius, but lowering the canopy doesn’t automatically drop the outside air temperature by 20 degrees.

But I do have to run an errand today… walking down two flights of stairs to get my mail. No big deal. I make the trip to the mailbox very matter of factly in my typical denim, not too booty-short skirt, open-toed but flat-heeled shoes and a pretty boring shirt. So I’m at the mailbox sorting out the daily array of mis-shelved letters when two contractors come to the front gate of the building (which is directly aside the mailboxes). I consider just letting them in but one gets on his phone with whomever in the building is his client so I forget about it. The other one links his fingers through the design in the gate like some sort of caged spider monkey, looks at me and says, “You smell nice.” Okay, ew. There’s no way you’re getting in now, sicko. I ignore him and return to my apartment where Mikey’s sprawled on the couch, eating a Big Mac and watching Ellen Degeneres.

I doubt that I actually smell nice. No itchy perfumes, et al. I probably smell more neutral than anything. But it just blows my mind that every time the temperature hits over 95 and I step out of my apartment with the most unglamorous of errands – picking up potting soil at the Home Depot, returning books at the library – that these creatures feel compelled to chat it up with me. A well-dressed businessman in the Target parking lot once leered to me, “It’s so hot out here. What do you do to cool down?” I believe I gave him a blank stare until he uncomfortably backed away, turned around, and went on with his business. GROSS DUDE! Call a party line!

Al Gore and I really need to discuss this.


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