Hot, Cranky Questions

Normally, I am friendly and kind.

Normally.

But the North Carolina summer is so malevolently awful that it feels personal.  I can’t argue with hot though, because there is no combination of words I can say that will make it cooler and less humid. 

And, standing outside, yelling, and shaking my fist at the sky just confirms suspicions that my neighbors have had about me all along.

So, I walk around all summer, every summer, disgruntled.  Usually, my gruntle returns in early October about the time the State Fair comes to town.  Then that big ole bag of grumpy departs like a hummingbird heading south for the winter.

I strive to stifle my summer-originated rage.  But on especially gross days in which I am forced to spend extended time outside, my animosity bubbles to the surface, like a particularly noxious aquifer in the form of sarcastic, smart-alecky questions.

Some are purely rhetorical, some I know the answers to, and some are actual head-scratchers and are the result of honest, albeit cantankerous curiosity.

Do you know what’s unfair?  Having gray hair, wrinkles, and acne all on the same head.  It’s those infernal masks.  Wearing one is a giant pain.  It’s punishingly hot and moist under here.  I am beyond sick of smelling and breathing my own breath.  I’m always forgetting it and having to run back to the car.  It makes my glasses fog up.

It’s one of the best ways, though, to protect yourself and others from transmission.  But I keep seeing a puzzling phenomenon all over the place and even on the faces of TV reporters.  So I have to ask; why even bother wearing that mask if you’re gonna leave your nose outside?

So, those murder hornets that were supposed to invade our shores and spread a swath of death and destruction everywhere they went.  What happened to them?

I have a theory. They arrived in the US and saw the news and read a few papers.  When they realized what a flaming hot mess 2020 is, they turned around and went back to Mars.

Why can’t I eat ice cream for breakfast, lunch, and dinner?  It’s hot!

Madonna: desperately seeking sanity.

Singer Sam Smith, Jennifer Lopez, Drake, Madonna, et al, posting tone-deaf videos and photos from multi-multi-million dollar homes complaining about the boredom/anxiety of quarantining. 

On behalf of all the people out here who aren’t riding around our private islands on a unicorn while wearing gold-plated underclothes; might you please shut the heck up?

There are actually folks who will gaze at you with a slightly manic look and state with a straight face, that they “love the heat”.

What is wrong with them?

Camping.  Leaving one’s comfortable homes full of running water, electricity, and air conditioning for the charms of sleeping on the ground, eating food that’s either half-raw or burned to charcoal, and being feasted upon by any number of insects.

Why would anybody in their right mind do that on purpose?

Would somebody please explain to me why fried dough covered in a honey glaze is so much tastier than a carrot?

Throughout history, different body shapes are in or out of fashion.  During the Italian Renaissance, the style was Rebuenesque; plump and ample.  In the roaring 20s, it was desirable to be slim with straight hips and a boyish figure.  Marilyn Monroe was the ideal in the 1950s with an hourglass figure.

So when are flat butts and big feet going to have a turn?

Finally, somebody, please tell me, I’ve gotta know—how hard is it to actually change a roll of toilet paper?

Thanks for your time.

Contact me at d@bullcity.mom.