Dear Mother Nature,
Normally, I wouldn’t question a single thing you do. I’m a big fan of your work. Starry skies? Awe-inspiring. Tropical waterfalls? Lovely. Trees of every shape and size? I’m a huge fan. Always have been.
But can we talk about the thermostat? I gritted my teeth every day last month because it’s silly to complain about the heat during August. But we’re 10 days into September now. Ten days!
Did you forget to flip the page over on your wall calendar? Why does it still feel like we’re living on the surface of the sun? Did you step out for a 10-day coffee break and forget to adjust the thermostat before you left? Please explain.
Grass around our neighborhood doesn’t usually fade to brown until December. But here we are, four months ahead of schedule, with yards turning tan and trees dropping crumpled, crispy leaves before ever getting a chance to turn crimson or gold. Those gorgeous fall colors are some of your best work, but we’ll never see it if we die of heat stroke first. At the rate we’re going, we’ll be a heap of ashes quicker than you can say pumpkin spice.
I watched the weather forecast this morning during breakfast, hoping for a sign of relief on the horizon. But all I saw was a TV screen full of ones and zeroes. Every day in the seven-day forecast comes with triple-digit temperatures. That’s at least 12 degrees above what’s normal around here. A two-degree temperature variance is understandable, but 12 degrees feels like a glaring typo.
Perhaps your intern made a data-entry mistake? Could you kindly double-check these numbers? Would you like to borrow my reading glasses?
I’m not sure you’re aware, but my favorite college football team is scheduled to play its first game this weekend. In this heat, I’m worried they’ll burst into flames under heavy pads and helmets. Have cool breezes run out of stock? Can’t we get these guys a cold front?
I don’t want to be one of “those customers” who’s never satisfied. I grew up in the South, so I’ve been conditioned to withstand heat and humidity. But a girl has her limits, and that limit is August 31st. The grace period is officially over.
I can’t help but wonder if there’s been some mix-up. I live on the northern edge of the American South, but it feels like I’m waking up in a Florida swamp. Did this weather accidentally get shipped to the wrong address? Everyone makes mistakes. I totally get it. But can we mark this heat as “return to sender” and ship it back to the Amazon rainforest where it belongs?
We’re wilting under this heat dome, and our furry friends are panting at top speed. The dogs in my neighborhood haven’t been able to go out on their daily sniff walks because the sidewalks feel like lava. Their doggie toe-beans would roast on a day like this. Sure, we could put protective dog shoes on them, but then the squirrels would make fun of them. This weather is triggering interspecies bullying, and I’m pretty sure this is how wars break out.
One last thing: Could you possibly prorate the loss of these first 10 days of September? I know you don’t do refunds, per se, but perhaps you could add a few extra days with mild temperatures at the end of fall. You’d have to bump winter back by a week or so, but I doubt anyone would mind. Just an idea. Think it over. I’m open to negotiating. I’ve got a closet full of cardigans waiting to be worn, and time’s a’tickin.
Sincerely,
Hot and frizzy under the heat dome
Gwen Rockwood is a syndicated freelance columnist. Email her at gwenrockwood5@gmail.com. Her books are available on Amazon.