I live in the desert. Which means, for the last few months we've pretty much lived with 3-digit temperatures every single day. But it's a dry heat. Screw that dry heat. Listen, I don't care if it's dry, wet, or moist - when it's 115 degrees outside, the dew point can suck it no matter what, as far as I'm concerned.
Well, this weekend, my dears? The high on Saturday was ONLY 74 degrees. WHAT? Yes. We ran around the block twice screaming the f-word because nothing else would suffice to express the level of our elation. After the cops left, we took the dogs for a walk (they even barked the f-word!) - and they had so much territory to re-mark since the Spring, I think they strained a kidney.
The next day, the high was 77 degrees. I KNOW, right!!? So we went for a 2-hour hike/run and felt all superior about ourselves for living where we do with all this GLORIOUS weather. Every time we'd pass someone on the trail, Tony would say to me something like "Can you believe we saw that moose back there?" or "Should we report that tiger to the Park Ranger?" or "I didn't know there were pythons in Arizona!!" - because he is hysterical that way and because the weather, clearly, made us behave as if we were on drugs while convincing us both that we are indeed funny to the outside world. We don't learn from experience, you see.
Anyway, people always ask what it's like to live in the desert in the summer. I always say, take a hair dryer, put it on its hottest setting, then turn it on high - point it at yourself - for 3 months. That's kind of what it's like. Only worse, when you consider that one thingy called the Sun. So, now that we're heading into 9 months of staggeringly beautiful weather, please forgive me this indulgent and annoying post where I go all fruity about the weather. It's like we've been without water for 3 months and just took a big slug. Ahhhhhhh.