Well, it’s official – summer is here, in a big, bad way.
June, schmune; it doesn’t matter what the experts say is the official start of the hottest months of the year – one only has to walk outside one’s front door and wilt like a hibiscus on a stovetop to know that it’s sweatin’ time.
How… HOW did the people in Batabano manage it? No wonder carnival costumes are material-repellent – I couldn’t imagine dancing down the road in anything wider than turkey twine in that heat. (A glorious sight that all would hope is just a mirage.) The only thing hotter than standing outdoors is getting into your car at around noon and blasting the air-conditioning. It’s like someone switched out the engine with a million hair dryers. When you open the windows before you asphyxiate, suddenly those 137 degrees-in-the-shade temperatures will seem like a cool breeze in comparison.
I do love overhearing conversations around this time of year from seasoned residents and Caymanians (“Boyyyy… that is a HEAT out there!”), which all revolve around the same subject. Surely this is hotter than last year? I don’t remember it ever being this bad! You wouldn’t catch me outside in this…
The most obvious proof of global warming isn’t when you feel like a French fry on the asphalt or you’re springing like a stag over the toasty sand – it’s the electricity bill. It’s right around now that I start checking my meter about every three days to see how quickly we’re gobbling up the kilowatts, and perhaps make appropriate adjustments. Of course, the one thing that gaily sits down to consume endless heaping platefuls of power is the air-conditioning, which is one comfort I’m not willing to sacrifice. So, my head will turn towards the electric toothbrush (how important are teeth, really, in the big scheme of things?), the stove (I love me some crunchy pasta) and lights (if our forefathers could make it through the house by the glow of a flickering candle, why can’t we?). Actually, I could just cook our food on the black seats of my black Jeep. No one in Batabano gear would want to plant themselves inside without a towel protecting their derriere.
I give it a month before social media blows up with posts from those suffering sticker shock when they get their latest bill. It is amazing how the numbers can jump as the mercury rises. Genuinely, a good way to be prepared for what’s coming is to check that meter. When it starts to whizz around like it’s just had a double espresso, monitor your usage or see if there is a suspicious 500-foot extension cord running from your house to elsewhere.
This time of year is brutal for anyone who has to work outdoors. Construction, gardening, pool service… I have a question: Does the ninja headgear keep them cooler or is it designed to keep the bugs at bay? I marvel when I see them working around yards, imagining myself being carted off to hospital in an ambulance for severe heat exhaustion.
Our police force has to wear uniforms made of pretty heavy fabric. Is that one of their many tests before they are officially recruited? Do they have to be wrapped up in a blanket and stand on the beach for 15 minutes? I’d take a five-mile jog over that any day of the week. (Actually, I’d strongly object to either, but if I was forced to choose… ) Not even police officers in Bermuda wear Bermuda shorts. Talk about a crime.
Yes, indeed, summer seems to be upon us early. Whether we like it or not, it’s going to gradually get hotter until temperatures reach their zenith around September; or, as I like to call it, Menopause Month. So, time to put away the jeans and long-sleeved tops, tie up the long hair, and get out the turkey twine. I’m ready for my close-up, Mr. DeMille.
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