I can’t believe it and am loath the admit it, but I have become Southernized. Not that I’ve bought a machine gun or have purchased a truck with eight-foot-tall tires, but regarding something much more important: the heat.
Regular readers know that I hail from just south of Seattle, where a nice winter day is forty degrees with no rain and a pleasant summer day is seventy degrees with no rain. Here in sunny South Carolina-“it’s like a vacation every day!” my wife says-a nice winter day is seventy with no rain and a pleasant summer day is 105 degrees with no rain.
Nice is relative. But I caught myself today opening the back door to the screened-in porch and propping it open.
“I really like the sounds of the outside and the breeze blowing through, I told my wife. “And just to make sure we’re not spending money trying to cool the outside, I’ll turn the AC up to 78.
For you math types, that’s almost 80, at which point I die in Seattle. And there’s not even any humidity in Seattle. Now-weirdly- it’s livable.
Maybe I should rethink my plans to move back to upstate New York and bask in six months of snow and sub-thirty. I might be too Southern for that now.