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How hot is it? It's so hot...

By Tracy Curtis
tracyobserver@yahoo.com
Tracy Lee Curtis
Tracy Lee Curtis is a humorist, writer and speaker. She writes family humor for the Charlotte Observer. Her column appears each Sunday.

Is it me, or is it really hot outside?

I completely underestimated the heat. I took my cell phone with me on a power walk with some girlfriends. And by the time we got back, the phone was dead. OK, so I had it stuffed in my shirt. But who knew moisture was murdering electronic devices?

I've been noticing a lot of strange things during this particular wave of heat. In fact, you know it's hot when...

The cat asks for a bath.

You start air-kissing your spouse.

Instead of picking up and carrying a child to bed, he prefers you chase him into his room with a leaf blower. And then you ask your husband to blow-dry your hair with it.

It's quicker to fry an egg in the driveway than on the stove. And even quicker to scramble an egg out there if you time the mailman just right.

Your kids fight over the fan to see who can blow the most air up into their shirts. And down their pants.

You're at the beach, but don't want to leave the air-conditioned house to walk across hot sand to the ocean. So you freeze a pair of socks to wear under your flip flops - figuring you can make it over the dunes before they completely melt. And disintegrate.

You don't even want to put on your contact lenses.

The phone slips from your ear because of all the sweat around your hairline and neck. And you know it's really hot when the sweat mats your hair into a little basket that actually catches the phone before it hits the floor. And then you cut it out with scissors because you just don't want hair anymore.

You know it's hot when you wear a flannel warm-up suit to teach a full day of Vacation Bible School, calculating it's the equivalent of nine hot yoga classes. Wear the suit the whole week, and make Bible School the hottest weight loss program since Zumba.

You'd rather pour your margarita over your body than drink it. And eat refrigerated chips. And hard-freeze the salsa, then chip off little pieces to suck on after each Tostito. Hmmm.

And you know it's hot when somebody tells you it's only 98. But it feels like 106. And then you say that it might as well be 106. And then they say, but it's not. And they begin to explain what heat index is. And then you kill them.

Pretty hot out there.

tracyobserver@yahoo.com
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