The hot, steamy, stupid sun is hot.
I know some people like it – people who enjoy the feeling of the skin melting right off their bones like there was an atomic explosion in their back yard and they neither ducked nor covered. And if that’s you, fine. Don’t worry about my opinion. You go enjoy being a cupcake in God’s Easy Bake Oven.
For me, the misery of stepping outside during summer in the deep south is hard to put into words. Have you seen the end of the first Indiana Jones movie? It’s like that, except not as delightful. The way I’m built, it’s as if I’m opening the Ark of the Covenant while wearing an Ozzy Ozbourne mask made by Marilyn Manson, signed by Richard Dawkins. It burns.
Not to mention that the sun and I don’t get along for other reasons. Lots of you may tolerate the heat to enjoy the beautiful bronze color that your skin inherits from the cancerous rays of the sun, but not me. The sun has a different gift in store if I bask more than approximately 10.62 seconds under its brilliance. I get to unwrap a big ol’ box of Basal Cell Carcinoma – the sort of skin cancers my doctor chortled about.
“They’re the kind you WANT to get if you’re gonna get skin cancers. Hahahaha.”
It ain’t funny.
I don’t WANT to get ANY skin cancers, but nature has resolved that they pair nicely with the skin tags under my arms and so I’m blessed with them. I know it could be worse. My family has dealt with the scare of Melanoma first hand, but even the carcinomas can be bad if you let them go. So my skin doctor tells me to never fear. All I have to do is grease myself down with sunscreen from head to toe every day for the rest of my life and make sure the SPF protection is no lower than 7,947.
“And wear long sleeves if you can, unless you get wet. Once your clothing is wet, it offers little protection from the sun,” I’m told. “In that case, Mr. Blackston, you should make sure your sunscreen is in place and also carry a spare suit of armor with you. In fact, just to be safe and to ensure you enjoy a happy life under the sun, you just go ahead and put on that suit of armor first thing every morning and wear it all day no matter how much it chafes your armpits and makes your skin tags sore.”
No big deal, right? Forget it. I’m dressing as cool as I can, which may or may not include full nudity in public when the temperature goes above a certain level. You won’t be able to recognize me anyway – my face will be in a puddle around my feet.
Because the stupid hot, steamy sun is hot.