(Only instead of Ruby Slippers I'm rocking mismatched socks, yo.)
Two weeks of this:
Me: *whiiiiiine* I'm hottttttt! Oh my God this humidity is killinggggggg meeeeeeeeeee! *fanning face with Kindle, magazine, newspaper, whatever*
Dan: *unsympathetically* Turn on the fan.
Me: I diiiiiiiiiiid but it's just blowing damp, wet, hot air around the room. *hyperventilating slightly as there isn't enough air to BREATHE*
Dan: You'll get used to it.
Me: *dramatically* I'm hotttttttttttt! I can't sleeeeeeeep.... ughhhh, this humidity sucksssssssss!!! <insert long day of extreme bitchiness due to lack of sleep and hatred of all things humid>
Dan: *not looking up from the Mets game* Turn on the fan.
Me: I diiiiiiiiiiiiiiid but it's just blowing damp, wet, hot air around the room. I can't BREATHE. Ugh... gross! Humidity! I hate it! *flop pathetically on couch with fan cranked up so high it's blowing your small Pomeranian across the room*
Dan: *engrossed in Deadliest Catch* You'll get used to it.
Me: (in bed every single night) *toss* *turn* *toss* *turn* *kick* *flail* *sigh* *thump pillow* *kick covers down really really aggressively* *siiiiiiiiiigh* *accidentally kick Dan* *SIIIIIIGHHHHHHH*
Dan: *snooooooooooooore* *snooooooooooooooore*
(Rat bastard couldn't even wake up to appreciate my "I'm hot" performance.)
Meanwhile, I seriously have been miserable. I don't mind the heat so much but the fact that the air is thick and wet and literally DOESN'T MOVE is TORTURE. I break a sweat in the shower, for God's sake. I can't do anything or go anywhere without feeling like someone just waterboarded me with a steady blast of hot mist.
For the past week I've been kicking it up a notch and adding some fine, fine Scarlett O'Hara southern-style vapors when we go outside, come back in, or are just casually hanging around in the livingroom. I am giving "looking HOT" a whole new meaning. When I look "hot" I literally look sweaty, wilted, and uncomfortable. When you add Maisy the Panting Pug collapsed next to me, we present a pretty compelling portrait of chubby misery. (Have I mentioned she's my soul mate?)
Over the weekend, the rainy heat was stifling. We had an outside BBQ at Dan's parent's house and had to take a FAN out so that none of us would die from heat stroke or suffocate from the steam the rain + heat was creating while eating dinner. (Whoever heard of needing to take a fan OUTSIDE?) Dan was sweating bullets and I chose that moment to bring it on home.
Me: Seriously, a fan outside? Why not sit INSIDE AND BLAST AN AC?
Dan: Do you know how much it costs to run an AC all summer?
Me: Yes. Do YOU know what the odds are of getting another woman to come to this hell hole and put up with you?
So last night, when he got home from work, he installed a small AC unit. I immediately blasted it up to high, positioned two fans in the room to create optimum air flow, and prepared to cool off.
Oh my.... mmmmm hmmmmm... HEAVENLY. Dan went to bed and I stayed in the livingroom, sucking up the cool air and loving every minute of it. Eventually, when the room started to get REALLY cold, I made hot tea, covered up with an afghan, and smiled contentedly. Ahhhhhhh... *bliss*
Now, a rational person might say, "Ummm... why didn't you turn down the AC when you got cold?"
To that I reply, "Because some of my most contented moments back home in my little city on the northern coast of California were spent sitting on the couch covered in blankets sipping hot tea."
Also? Running the AC on high until the room is a cozy 57 degrees is cheaper than purchasing a plane ticket and staying in a hotel on the coast for the summer.
If you drag your wife from her cool and fabulous view and weather (not to mention friends and job) on the California coast to the sweaty armpit of upper New York state, it's going to cost you.