Our patio looks like a desolate third world country. Grasshoppers who have established evacuee camps, give me a one-fingered salute as they chomp away at the french fried plants. I expect a request for ketchup any day now.
Mosquitoes the sizes of drones have begun their reign of terror. They circle overhead like vultures waiting to pounce on anyone brave enough to go outside without hazmat attire. The pool is not an option. If the mosquitoes don’t do you in, the water is so hot you reach a parboiled state in about five minutes.
Dallas in August is like opening the basement door to Hell propelled by the wind to spread the misery as far as possible.
My lifestyle changes dramatically during this month. The “to die for” strappy sandals I had to have are still in their box. Yucky old yoga flip-flops are cool, easy to glide into and do not stick to melting sidewalk.
Forget about hair; whatever drip dry state it acquires after my morning shower is pretty much it. When I venture outdoors, it looks like a wet mop in five seconds, so it’s hardly worth the effort to style. The only people who look decent are tourist and they are in shock.
Business should classify shorts and tank tops as appropriate office attire in August. Offices are air conditioned, but the walk from your car, train or parking lot leaves you a soggy, hot mess.
I have never understood why law enforcement officers have to wear black. Wouldn’t they be cooler dressed in white in the summer? I’d hate to argue a traffic ticket with an over-heated cop dressed in black head to toe.
The heat has caused me to sink to a new low. I hoard popsicles. I hide the banana and orange flavored ones, leaving the grape ones for my beloved. My indoor attire is such that, I wouldn’t open the front door for the Publishers Clearing House. Fans in every room are rotating full blast to accommodate increased thermostat setting.
The good news is frozen margaritas moved up the food pyramid. The bad news is we will probably require many when we receive our electric bill.