This is me complaining about the heat

It is hot.  I have tried to refrain from too much complaining (EVERYONE here is hot.  Complaining about the heat is so OBVIOUS.) but DUDE, IT’S HOT.

Many of my friends are perplexed when they see me wilting away whenever temperatures are over 80.  “Aren’t you used to this?  Wasn’t it really hot where you grew up?”  Absolutely, it was.  But all it took was ONE year away and I forgot how to deal with the heat.

Have you heard of a haboob?  “Haboob” is an Arabic word for a crazy strong sandstorm.  Back in the day, there was such a general understanding of the immense discomfort caused by a haboob that a husband could kill his wife during a haboob and GET AWAY WITH IT.  The reasoning was, of course, that the haboob was so terrible, it could drive you crazy.  It was essentially an insanity plea.  “Yes, I killed my wife, but it’s because of the haboob!”

This word has made its way into our everyday vernacular.  For us, the “haboob” (it’s never just haboob, it’s always THE haboob) refers to the oppressive heat that has swept through our town this summer.

While cold weather  makes some people sad and depressed, hot weather makes me ANGRY and irritable.  P and I were making the bed the other day and before we knew it, tempers were flaring.  Luckily, one of us had the presence of mind to realize that we weren’t angry about the SHEETS–it was the haboob!

Thankfully, claiming haboob usually diffuses the situation.  So far, we’re all still alive.

But just barely.

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