Good lord, it’s hot in Phoenix, Arizona today. I set a personal temperature record: 111 degrees Fahrenheit (44 degrees Celsius). I could sense heat radiating off my shirt against my skin whenever I walked into the shade. My eyeballs turned to charcoal glowing in a grill, as Mother Nature blasted a blowdryer in my face, with every speck of moisture sucked out of them in a ferocious blast furnace. At 8:30 this evening it’s still 103 and people are sitting outdoors at some of the restaurants here. How can they stand it?
I admit it, I’m a temperature wimp. I’ve escaped to the blessed air conditioned indoors. I’m heading home tomorrow.