I’m not complaining, but it sure is hot! Wow! Okay, I’m complaining a little, but only in that this-heat-makes-me-sticky-and-sweaty-therefore-grouchy kind of way, not in a I-hate-this-get-me-outta-here kind of way.
And also, I’d rather be praying for Oklahoma City and St. Louis than complaining about my sweaty hair.
Still, when the sun is beating down, and the humidity is so bad that every breath fills your lungs with air that’s mostly water, and the toddler has to point at every little nobbin, button, latch, hook, spot, nubbin, and thingamabob on the car door and say “what’s that” until he’s rotated through everything he could possibly point at three times, and you’ve said “it’s part of the door now get in the car” at least twenty-seven times, it’s almost necessary to complain for at least as long as it takes to get said toddler to lean back far enough in the car seat to get his straps buckled when he’d much rather be leaning over to look out the window at the men working on the roof across the street. It’s long enough. It’s not the heat that gets you. It’s not the humidity either. It’s the toddler that makes you stay out in the heat and humidity much longer than anyone can stand. He is cute, though.