Ra Ra Ra

Got a call from a friend up north this week, taking a break from trying to ease his bicycle out of his driveway where the damn thing had literally melted into the blacktop.  “I can’t believe how hot it is,” he complained.  “The heat index is 112.  That’s fucking savage.  How do you people put up with it down there?”

I tell him I drink a glass of Freon every morning instead of orange juice.

As for other people here in the Nation’s Dicktip, I’m not convinced they even know it’s hot outside.  They seal themselves up in air conditioned houses, stores, and offices, and in the rare event that they wander out it’s only to dash into a car refrigerated like a meat locker.  Unless you’re working construction or delivering mail, you’re probably unscathed by the earth’s natural atmosphere.

Heat doesn’t bother me at all.  Quite the contrary.  This is my time of year and my kind of weather.   The windows are open all day and night — no AC for this cold-blooded reptile — and I’m out in the sun as much as I can be, roasting my buns and frying my flesh.  This is the weather Guido and I moved to Florida to enjoy, to flourish in rain forest conditions like orchids.  Or fungus.

Our cats and dog don’t share our preferences here.  When it heats up, the cats, most of whom still young enough to frolic and romp now and then, just sprawl on the terrazzo or under a tree.   As for the dog, she refuses to play ball with me.  I have to throw and chase it myself, and believe me, it tastes terrible when I retrieve it.

There’s no question that the only way to survive like this is to dress for it — which actually means undress for it.  Around the house I wear next to nothing or nothing at all.  Keep that in mind when you visit.  Whole days pass where I go shirtless and shoeless, sweating freely and abundantly.  The thought of a necktie isn’t a pleasant one, but do neckties make sense under any circumstances?  I had one on the other night at a reception, complete with suit.  I think the only way people recognized me was by the tanorexia.  (Or maybe the name tag.)

The best part is, in south Florida the hot weather starts early, stays strong, and lingers late.  Kind of like a Viagra hard on, but you can’t beat it.  We belong here.  Do you?

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3 Responses to Ra Ra Ra

  1. Rick says:

    To each his own, I guess, but isn’t the mold and mildew a bear?


  2. Tanya Hyde says:

    Love it, Squats. You’re one of us, and for the second straight summer you’re representing the Haulover Beach Tanorexic Anonymous chapter with flying colors. 🙂 Remind your readers: when tanning naked on south Florida’s burning summer sand, protect your balls: feet, eyes, and the ones you thought of first.

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