Itís time to have a little talk.
These kind of talks usually preceded a spanking, timeout, grounding, an opportunity to find a new girlfriend, or a new job.
Iíve had enough of this heat.
I know itís September and the summer heat is waning and itís about to cool off a little and the leaves will start changing soon, but enough is enough.
The heat index today said 107. The thermostat said 103.
What is the point of a heat index anyway, to make me feel worse about how hot it is?
You know my long standing rule of thumb: When the heat index hits 115 degrees, clothes start to come off. Weíre just eight degrees away from me and some exposed flesh.
I know I made a promise back in February after the ice storm and the days on end of damp, chill-you-to-the-bone cold. I know I promised I wouldnít complain anymore about the heat after enduring that stretch of cold and wet.
I understand folks up north havenít had much of a summer, that temperatures have been stuck in the mid-seventies by day and dropped into the fifties at night.
I know you havenít enjoyed the tanning time by the pool you would have liked this summer but letís be honest, there isnít enough sun in the sky to adequately tan all you have, so I call the argument moot.
I know Iím not supposed to call this ďGlobal WarmingĒ but instead, ďGlobal Climate Change,Ē and I know Al Gore had as much to do with global climate change as he did inventing the Internet, and I know itís not Alís fault when eight inches of global warming fell in my front yard two years ago, but enough is enough.
I donít like all this heat.
Where is an Ice Bucket Challenge when you really need one?
I moved down here seven years ago knowing I was moving to the sub-tropics. I traded the cool mountains for the sweltering tranquility of the beach.
I know there are palm trees here, and gators, too. The brochure said balmy winters and I like balmy winters. I hate shoveling snow.
I know how hot it gets here.And humid.
Iím comfortable with taking four showers a day during July and August, and itís not that big of a deal doing laundry twice a day.
But enough is still enough.
For what itís worth, my second day in Charleston greeted me with 19 degree temperatures and a 40 mph wind for my troubles, making the windchill factor somewhere around zero.
I book wind chill factors and heat indexes into the same column: Things created solely to hack me off.
When the weather guy says, ďIt feels like 107 degrees outside,Ē then how about saying, ďitís 107 degrees outside?Ē
Just kick me while Iím down why donít you?
You see, I do things profusely. Moderation is not part of my vocabulary.
So, when I sweat I donít just ďdewĒ like a proper Southern Belle, I sweat profusely, like a dog going 10-100 on a flat rock.
I want to take Al Gore up on his global climate change. I have a suggestion. Letís change the climate.
Letís take South Carolina and flip it like a quarter to see who goes first. Letís take Charleston and stick it up in the mountains and letís have Greenville and Spartanburg deal with this Lowcountry heat for awhile.
I donít want to stand along the football sidelines this weekend and sweat like Iíve got something to hide.
I want to be comfortable.
I want to enjoy the game.
And I donít want to sweat.
Is that too much to ask?