I entered the bar, and man, was it hot.
Everybody thinks Canada is one motherfucking cold place, and I suppose, in some parts, it is. But in my little part of the country, it's pretty manageable. Yes, you need a winter jacket after Halloween, usually, and no, you aren't wearing longjohns into April. However, I don't know if it is global warming or not, but the summers seem hotter than a tin roof rusted, and it's already begun.
I can't take the heat. I'm not fond of frigid temperatures either, but given a choice, I'd rather be cold than be hot. I can always find a way to warm up. Add a couple of sweaters, get a Tim Horton's coffee, and there ye go. Most summers, a hot day is 80. Maybe 85. But it seems like every year it gets more humid, earlier each year, not just a few random days spread out between July and August.
Already, we've had several occasions of high humidity. My main way to cope with the heat in the summer is to dress lightly and to go for a beer or five. Sitting out on the patio is usally the best way to go, because Ontario nights are generally cool enough to just need a light sweater or long-sleeved tee shirt.
Not last week though. I bared my arms in a sleeveless black shirt, pulled on a pair of khaki capris and simply pinned my hair back with a few random bobby pins. And when I walked into the bar, I was just as hot as I was midday, even though I had showered and changed just a short hour before.
Why is it when you're hot and sticky, everybody wants to hug you? I felt sorry for all the embraces I returned, and finally had to ditch the crowded patio for something more low-key. A martini, a few pints of beer and several Sambuca shots later, and I didn't feel the heat at all.
The beauty of drinking during a heat wave is the impossibility of sustaining a hangover. All that alcohol must have simply evaporated.
Somedays, I get longing for another heatwave.