How are you coping with hot weather? Montreal has been an oven these past few days. A humid oven. If that’s even possible.
I have a big problem when the heat strikes. I don’t sweat. Not a lot anyways. Not like a normal person. Instead my body temperature just goes up by half a degree centigrade. A malfunctioning thermostat, I presume.
So leave me in the sun for half an hour and you’ll be able to fry an egg on my tummy. Sunny side up anyone?
Naturally I hate going to the beach, lying in the sun, soaking up the UVs. That’s good I guess, I’m sure my skin thanks me. But you know what it also means? Pasty white legs, and most of the times a farmer’s tan. Oh and also vitamin D supplements. A hike in the woods, picnic in the park, (not extreme) rock climbing, I’m your gal, but sitting still while my blood slowly reaches boiling temperature and pretending I’m enjoying it, no thanks!
Yesterday the circumstances forced me to venture outside the house at around 2 pm. Big no no! There were no buses because of a demonstration in the street. I cannot wrap my head around the fact that those people could march and shout stuff and hold up signs under a vicious sun casting down rays like poisonous darts.
So anyway, I walked to the metro station for what seemed to be the longest 10 minutes of my life. And you want to hear something funny? I was actually lugging a cardigan in my purse. Yes. A long-sleeved cardigan. What possessed me to do that? I can’t really explain but I think the stream of thought must have gone something like this: “our apartment is 20°C (AC = bliss!) so it must be even cooler outside. Therefore bring something warm.” Total brain fail.
When I came back home I was so exhausted that I had to lie down for a little bit while whining that I want a lemonade. An hour later, after I cooled down, ditched the cardigan, changed into a shorter dress and put on my flip flops, we went outside for a lemonade. On our way there we saw a coffee shop that was also selling granitas, or slushies or whatever you call them. D asked if I wanted one of those instead. “No, it has to be a lemonade!” I protested and we walked on. At the lemonade store we realized they only take cash and we had none. We went back home, emptied the piggy bank, got a few dozen quarters and went back. Finally, decades later I got a super concentrated, NOT freshly squeezed, slightly chemical and with ice chips in it, $3 lemonade. Also known as LEMON SLUSHIE. D found this utterly amusing. I did not.