Hot! Hot! Hot!

Every year I forget how hot the summer gets. I had a toasty reminder one day last week. The temperature was in the high nineties with a heat index of 105-110 degrees. I did what I needed to do outdoors and got back in the house before eleven a.m. I had a hair appointment at four p.m. My son had my vehicle and Bud had gone somewhere in his, so when I got ready to go, I realized I had to drive his old 1996 Jeep Wrangler. He loves that old truck. He’d wanted one since he was a kid, so he can’t bear to part with it. He usually drives it once a week or so, just to keep it from feeling depressed. When I was ready to go, there it sat, in all its un-air-conditioned glory, just waiting to bake me all the way to the hairdresser.

imageI climbed up on its sizzling plastic seat, no simple thing since it has no running boards, and settled myself in. It moaned and groaned, making end of life noises as I struggled to herd it out of the driveway. It has a stick-shift and no power steering. The windows were down so I could cool myself with the sultry air. Remember, the heat index? Long before I drove the two miles to the hair shop I looked like Sasquatch. Driving that Jeep felt like a combination of a tractor and a log wagon. I’ve driven both and really can’t say which I prefer. I told Susie to just cut my hair and forget styling it, knowing I had to go home in the hot Jeep. Just as I climbed back in, I remembered an errand I had to run. I thought I’d die. I took care of my business and thought I was just about to survive the heat when I saw flashing lights at the railroad crossing. I was caught.

As I sweltered, dying for a cool drink, my sister called on my cell phone. “Hey! What are you doing? I’m just sitting here in the air conditioning with a glass of iced tea. I had to step out and check the mail and thought I’d burn up!”

Oh! That was bad timing!