North Carolina. Come on. Seriously.

Dear North Carolina,

I no longer blame myself for the problems in our relationship. I love you, but when I break a sweat by walking forty feet from one air conditioned building to another, I have to believe you don’t care about me in the same way.

I thought I was overreacting — that it was just the first warm day of summer, and I wasn’t used to it yet. Then a friend told me it was a high of 97 today.

A high of 97, North Carolina? In the first week of June? That’s just mean.

Last year it was drippy-sweat hot from May to the end of November. Are we going to get a repeat of that performance? As exciting as it is to go to an important meeting straight from a shower and have sweat flowing down my back and face before I get to the car, I could really stand a little more restraint from you.

Let’s not even talk about how my housemate finally turned on the air conditioner today. Again, I no longer blame myself for this.

You aren’t the only game in town. I’m going to visit my friend Chicago tomorrow. Chicago is always there for me, with steady breezes and moderate temperatures. Then there’s New Mexico and California.

You tried to make me believe that humidity was normal. That everybody has it. Well, I’ve been to Albuquerque now, and you are a dirty, dirty liar.

I’m giving you another chance, North Carolina. If you can show me that you have more than four weeks of cool dry weather in you, then we can talk.

Otherwise I’m packing up. And I’m taking the dog.



Draws. Sweats. Eats too much sugar-free candy.

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