On the upside, whatever it is is keeping Notamus from leaping into the fridge every time I open the door. So there's that.
HOW TO TELL IF YOU LIVE IN TEXAS:
1. An oh-six-hundred opening time for the garden center sounds like a plan.
2. You grocery shop when it's dark, to avoid having your milk sour in the car during the three-block ride home.
3. Sweat is an accessory.
4. You have a refrigerator full of noncaffeinated liquids and very little else.
5. Not only do you know what "raspas" are, you have a favorite flavor, and you know that raspas are essential to surviving July.
6. Instead of lotion, you use Benadryl cream on your legs, for the mosquito bites.
7. The TV weatherman stands in front of banners that say "COOL" when the high is supposed to be only 91*F.
8. You can tell the difference between 104* and 109* when you walk outside.
9. You have a kiddie pool in the backyard for your dog. And you fill it with ice.
10. A margarita on a hot day qualifies as dinner--and nobody thinks you're a lush.
Lest any Yankees think I'm joking about any of this, let me tell you a true story about the weekend of the Fourth:
I was at my neighbor's house, on their back deck. It was a nice day, only 101* for the high. The temperature, though, doesn't drop much when the sun goes down, so we were all sitting out on the deck, with:
Two fans
A couple of galvanized tanks full of ice across which the fans were blowing
Misters going overhead
Gallons of bug spray
A baby pool full of ice water in which to soak our feet.
It struck us all that we were sitting in the midst of a whole lot of technology and ingenuity, all dedicated to keeping us cool enough after dark that we wouldn't get heatstroke.
And yet we did not go inside.
*That's* how you know you live in Texas.
