I'm Too Sweaty for My Shirt, Too Sweaty for My Shirt, So Sweaty It Hurts1

In northern climes, summer may be a receding memory, but here, it's just winding down. (Highs in the mid 80s instead of mid 90s.) I'll miss it. I like sweating. I like not wearing a shirt.² After Isaac, our AC was out for the better part of two weeks, and the whole time, I think I only wore a shirt to go to work. (Well, that's a slight exageration: I also wore a shirt to the grocery store. No shirt, no shoes, no service.) We flung open all the doors and windows and let the warm breeze blow through: not so bad.³

Fall, I'm happy to see you come, but summer, I'm sorry to see you go. Until next time.

1 You'll now have that song stuck in your head all day. You're welcome. I shake my little tush on the catwalk... 

2 I attribute my fondness for going shirtless to the redneck branches of my family tree. I attribute my fondness for stifling heat to the Creole branches, who spent three-hundred years in this Yellow Jack-infested sauna-swamp.

3 So say I. Sarah, on the other hand, was not amused at all.