It’s 100+ degrees in Seattle today. It has never previously topped 100 in the history of recorded temperatures. Our average July high temperature is 75. Every couple of years we get an 89 or 90-degree day.
But what happens in this city of transplants every time someone mentions the heat? Someone shoots back, “Ha! This is nothing. You should try living in Phoenix (or New Orleans, or Atlanta, or Las Vegas, or wherever they previously lived that was hot).”
Thanks. If I wanted to live in Phoenix, guess what? I’d be living there. And hey, if 100+ degree weather is so awesome, why aren’t you still living there?
There’s a Monty Python sketch called “The Four Yorkshiremen,” where some wine-sipping elders keep spinning bigger and bigger tales, to show how they had it worse than the others. It gets more and more ridiculous (“At bedtime, mum and dad would slice us in two with a bread knife”) until the punchline…well, I’ll let you see it.
Maybe I should appreciate what I’ve got, but perhaps the fact that I’m uncomfortable at 100+ degrees in Seattle (where few have air conditioning or even ceiling fans in their homes) is all that I need to appreciate our normal 75-degree summer days.