Heated Histrionics

I really shouldn’t complain.

I live in northern Alberta where warm weather is deemed a gift from the gods…

and they’ve been rather stingy of late.

So I should be a happy girl and revel in the searing sun +31 brings.

But there is no real reveling here.

No,

I live for the end of the day when I can wilt in my underwear in front of a manically rotating fan looking anything but ladylike.

I feel chubby

and sweaty

and in no way in control of how I want to present myself…

which would be calm cool and collected.

What is it about hot weather that makes me feel old? There was a time, not all that long ago I’ll have you know, when I LIVED to sit out in the sun sporting nothing

but a pair of shorts and a tube top. Yes, I did indeed have a tube top, granted my parents would only allow me to wear it in the back yard at home on the farm miles away from the general public, but wore it I did.

But now, now I sprout freckles and wrinkles whenever I step into direct sunlight.

And the heat…

heat rash and pools of sweat gathering where pools of sweat have never gathered before.

And then the upkeep. Shaving and moisturizing, applying sunscreen, sweat proof mascara and hair product to help control the frizzies.

And there is no other option to wearing clothing that is far more revealing than usual Northern Alberta apparel. Short pants, short sleeves, and no socks.

Summer is a time when you have no choice but to reveal parts of yourself that otherwise stays hidden at any other time of the year.

I think über hot weather is God’s way of saying

“I know who you are. I know how you feel. I know what you look like. Now go out there and rock it like you are my gift to the universe.”

But right now this “gift” is going to soak in a cool tub and strategize what air-conditioned buildings she will visit tomorrow.

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