A Hot Little Mess

It's summer here and I'm hot and bothered. What can I say? I live on the Texas coast where the humidity is about 100 percent, the heat index is about 105 Fahrenheit and the mosquitoes are the size of Hereford calves. What I wouldn't give for a cool front or a walk-in refrigerator.

This seagull may be able to stand on the sand, but it's hot for humans.

Speaking of refrigerators, do you know what the best thing about Walmart is? It's the frozen foods section. Yes, it's pure joy to open up that door holding the popsicles and stand there soaking in the cool dampness. And it's not just me. I've noticed quite a few middle-aged women standing there with looks of ecstasy on their faces as they reach for a frozen pizza.

Today I went to yoga and had a hot flash. How is that possible? I thought yoga was suppose to be calming. I was standing there on my little green mat when I felt the rush of heat rolling up from my mid-section to my face. And no, it wasn't just because I was in the downward facing dog position. Which brings me to another point. Who names yoga positions? I mean really, have you ever seen a dog with it's butt up to the roof, head between the front legs and stomach taunt? All I could think of was my hot flash and my yoga pants riding up.

These days quite honestly, I don't know if I'm having a hot flash or if it's the Texas heat. I've actually asked people, "Are you hot or is it just me?"

And don't even go there like Jessica Tandy in Fried Green Tomatoes when she tells Kathy Bates to "just yourselves some hormones." I can't take hormones because of my cancer diagnosis three years ago.

But it could be worse I guess. I could be living in some Third World country without air conditioning. I could be trapped in a turtleneck sweater. I could never have discovered the bliss of an Arnold Palmer drink (with or without vodka).

So, all in all, life could be a lot worse. But what I wouldn't give for a life of cool.

The Wondering Texan