I can finally feel it coming. Summer. Oh, it's not here yet. If you thought this was it, you'd be very unpleasantly surprised in June.
This happens every year, when the spring air is mild and the humidity is low, I try to trick myself in believing that it will stay like that. That the rising temperatures and dense humidity won't come. That I won't perspire multiple times per day and have to wash my bra every evening in the sink with Woolite.
Summer in Houston is what I imagine winter in Chicago is like. We have to gear up for it. Endure it. For some reason I always get a little bit excited when I can feel summer coming on. It's like a ritualistic cleansing. Right now we're going through Lent, a time when Christians are supposed to be thoughtful and penitent. But it's hard to be downcast when the air outside feels like Heaven itself. Summer, on the otherhand does feel like a scourging, where needs and wants are simplified to a fan, a popsicle, and as little clothing as possible. Severe weather simplies life. If I ever were to experience negative temperatures (God forbid), I can only assume they'd be limiting. As are rain and heat. Oh, heat.
Days like today prepare me mentally for what's coming. Shorts, skirts, flip flops, and iced coffee. The AC on level 3, or sometimes 4. A halo of frizz framing my hairline. Mesquitoes and flies and my most dreaded enemy, June bugs. But also berries, peaches, and watermelon. Sno-cones and grilling. White wine and evenings outdoors. Trips to the beach and a very good reason to sit inside and read.
So, I'm looking forward to summer with both anticipation and trepidation. It's my worst enemy and my old friend. An odd comfort. It's just so, Houston.