As you know, I attend Photo Club every other Saturday. Now, I’m about to tell you stories about some of the oddities of the people at Photo Club, and Darling Husband suggested that I use fake names to protect their privacy. He even suggested some names for me, and I’ve decided to use them here.
First of all, you know that I hitch a ride to PhotoClub with someone who lives at the other end of my street named….Gerhot. Now, Gerhot is often hot during the summer and seems to have only one requirement in a car: that it gets cold super-duper fast. And he has managed to find the one car on the planet that goes from boiling hot to freezing cold in 12.6 seconds, because by the time Gerhot’s car reaches my end of the street, it’s a bitter 28 degrees Fahrenheit in the car.
Every other Saturday morning, I step from my freezing house, because Darling Husband is always too hot in the summer too, into the muggy heat of the day, and then step into Gerhot’s ice cream truck of a car. That’s a recipe for a sharp headache right above the eyeball for you right there.
The first couple of times that Gerhot drove me to PhotoClub, we’d arrive and then sit in his car gabbing until the other members arrived. When this happened, I was a little disturbed to realize that Gerhot wasn’t going to turn off the engine, but rather let the car continue to pour out air from the vent so cold it was visibly billowing through the car, like dry ice. By the time the other members arrived, the car was encased in ice much like Shackleton’s expedition to the North Pole, and they had to approach the car with a sled dog team to chip us out with pickaxes.
I’ve learned since then to say, “Let’s go on in,” as soon as we arrive at PhotoClub.
So, a couple of weeks ago, after arriving at PhotoClub in the cold winter of Narnia, I ended up riding home in the heat of an equatorial jungle. Here’s why:
Sometimes after PhotoClub Darling Husband and I invite another Photo Club member to our house to visit for the day, and this guest will drive me home. Last time we invited this Photo Club member, named…Squat…I had just endured the frosty ride with Gerhot and was sort of looking forward to thawing out in the 100 degree heat outside the church. Not thawing too much. Just a nice, gentle thaw.
However, the day was hotter than I expected, and I had overdressed. I was wearing my jeans, my socks and shoes because my sandals were too stinky to wear in public, and my long sleeve shirt, with the sleeves rolled up. They started up rolled down in Gerhots car, which is why I deliberately chose to wear that shirt–for its flexibility of warmth.
I got into Squat’s car for the ride home and it wasn’t long, just long enough for Squat to pull out of the parking lot, before I realized I was covered in a sheen of sweat and that Squat wasn’t using the air conditioning in the car at all.
That saddened me a bit because being stinky and smelly makes me a little sad, and I asked, with selfish concern, “A/c broken?”
At which point I received a very bizarre response from Squat, who was drenched in sweat himself and turning beet red in the face from the heat.
“Nope. I just don’t always like to use it.” And then he came up with some story about acclimating himself to different temperatures, and you never know when you might not be able to control the temperature around you, so he was working on building up stamina for various temperature challenges of the future. Sort of like putting a bit of Iocaine powder in your tea every day until you build up an immunity to it.
I thought it was a little odd and unfortunate for me that Squat felt he simply had to build his immunity on a 100 degree day, with a 208 degree heat index, while he had a passenger in the car who was dressed for an arctic expedition. But whatever. It was his car, and I suppose that if he didn’t mind the stink, then why should I?
Besides, I needed to pick up some chicken salad for lunch from the grocery store on the way home, and the grocery store is even colder than Gerhot’s car, so I could pop into the store and the sweat would freeze on my brow, and then melt cool water over me for the remainder of the 5 minute drive home.
When we got to the grocery store, I jokingly said, “Well, Squat, I’ll just pop in and you can stay in the car! Ha ha!”
But he agreed! “Ok—I’ll stay in the car.”
I wasn’t sure if it was legal to leave him in the hot car, and maybe it would be like that poster on Facebook that I see every now and then about how if you leave a dog in your car, then people have a right to smash your car windows. Poor Squat just might get a smashed car window from a concerned citizen who would try to free him from his 382 degree hunk of metal.
Why am I telling this story now? Because I overheard Squat telling the tail end of this story today:
“…and when I’m done my shower, by the time I dry off with the towel, I’m just as wet with sweat as when I started.” And I asked, “Is the a/c broken in your house?”
And you know, I was going to offer him one of our 2 window a/c units, but since Squat has built up that nice immunity to the heat, I’m sure he’s fine without one.
Picture of the day:
This is a picture of Darling Husband sitting on a reclining chair in the living room watching TV all afternoon. I had to take his temperature and make sure he wasn’t delusional. Darling Husband? Sitting still for hours on end? He must be deathly ill!
The man never sits still. Ever. He’s a perpetual motion machine.
Usually on Sunday afternoon, he pops on Black Adder or some other somewhat offensive British tv show from the 80’s, and merrily bustles about all Sunday afternoon working on various projects. While he’s working on his projects, I’ll be busy taking care of the children by snoring and drooling into a couch pillow while we spend quality time together watching a marathon session of Indiana Jones movies.
But not today. Today I was the one puttering around, and Darling Husband was the one drooling.