There’s a heat wave making its way through the East Coast, and everyone is mad about it. I’ve run out of dresses to wear and have somehow finagled a questionable pencil skirt/tank top combo that is keeping me somewhat cool. People are pouring sweat on the streets (well, not in Cleveland Circle, where they just take their clothes off). Stores and restaurants are overcompensating with freezing cold air conditioning. And apparently Boston.com is predicting that it will be so hot out tomorrow – comparable to some kind of nuclear reaction – that only your sunglasses will save you.
What’s also troubling to me is that Boston.com’s morning forecast was simply “blistering.” Those that know me know the sun and I do not have a great relationship, and I’m currently still recovering from third-degree burns inflicted upon me over the fourth of July weekend. So, the sheer thought of “blistering” simply upon walking outside hurts my face.
Fortunately for me, my office is an igloo 365 days a year, and I’m currently sitting next to my space heater in an attempt to warm up. I’m expecting the drastic change in climate between outside and in will inevitably lead to me catching some kind of cold and losing my voice (for the third time this year). Until then, I also sit here in dread of working at my second job tonight, in a basketball gym with a broken air conditioner, sweaty men, and inflated egos. I fear the worst.