Hot and Hazy Days, and Overcooked Nights

Today the temperature got up to 95, and the forecast is for a high of 98 tomorrow and Thursday. I know it’s hotter elsewhere (it was 100 in Lindy’s part of Georgia), but we’re not that far behind; we’re only a little better off because Lexington is at a relatively high elevation (1000 ft. above sea level). It looks like nature is making up for lost time, after giving us a break in July. All this was expected, but I was surprised when I woke up this morning, and the outside temperature was already 78. At least in Florida we had summertime night temperatures in the low 70s, not the high 70s. It must have something to do with not being near an ocean. Tomorrow at work I’ve got to haul some some boxes between two buildings that are half a mile apart, and that’s going to be a chore, even if I do it first thing in the morning.

For what it’s worth, my brother sent me this funny list about Florida summertime conditions. I can still relate to most of them.

YOU KNOW YOU’RE IN FLORIDA IN JULY WHEN. . . .

The birds have to use potholders to pull worms out of the ground.

The trees are whistling for the dogs.

The best parking place is determined by shade instead of distance. (I’ve done that, he forgot to mention the trees are full of incontinent birds.)

Hot water now comes out of both taps.

You can make sun tea instantly.

You learn that a seat belt buckle makes a pretty good branding iron!

The temperature drops below 95 and you feel a little chilly.

You discover that in July it only takes 2 fingers to steer your car.

You discover that you can get sunburned through your car window.

You actually burn your hand opening the car door.

You break into a sweat the instant you step outside at 7:30 a.m.

Your biggest bicycle wreck fear is, “What if I get knocked out and end up lying on the pavement and cook to death?”

You realize that asphalt has a liquid state.

The potatoes cook underground, so all you have to do is pull one out and add butter, salt and pepper. (St. Augustine potatoes, right?)

Farmers are feeding their chickens crushed ice to keep them from laying boiled eggs.

The cows are giving evaporated milk. Ah, what a place to call home.

God Bless Our State of FLORIDA!

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