Cool Tactics

During the middle of the debilitating heat wave this summer, I emerged from my basement office to pick up the mail and found my wife standing three feet from a floor fan with her feet splayed and holding up the front of her skirt. Her eyes were closed in ecstasy as the breeze refreshed her undercarriage.  After a moment, she slowly opened her eyes, saw me enjoying the tableau, and in a breathy, contented voice said, “To air is human.”

 

There’s something about oppressively hot weather that unleashes both our animal instincts and our creativity for combating it. For example, our wonder dog Kiko’s instincts lead her to sprawl on the tile in front of the toilet, where she’s not only in the coolest place in the house, but is in easy reach of the humans who frequently visit that particular corner and can’t resist scratching her when she presents her belly.  

 

We’re friends with a couple who pride themselves on being Stealth Hippies. They dress conservatively to maintain their professional images while gleefully violating as many mainstream mores as they can get away with. So I wasn’t surprised when they told me their favorite heat-beating tactic: they keep non-laxative suppositories in the freezer and use them as directed several times a day.  They told me this while wearing cool, smug expressions. I had no follow-up questions.

 

My strategy for keeping cool is to take regular cool showers and not bother to get dressed until legal concerns arise. 

 

When we moved to Louisville last November, everyone assured us that the horrendously cold, wet winter was an anomaly and that we were going to LOVE springtime in Louisville. So you can well imagine how disappointed I was to have missed spring entirely because I was out of town that Thursday. From my perspective, we segued abruptly from Deep Freeze to Biblical Flooding to Endless Lethal Heat Wave. I don’t remember many breaks when we could leave the house without fear of freezing, drowning or suffering heat stroke.  As I write this, it’s 103 degrees with a heat index of 110.  I’ve got a towel on my leather chair so I won’t stick to it because I’m wearing only my wedding ring. 

 

I should point out that we have a fine central air-conditioning system. But neither of us enjoys shivering in icy rooms, and of course we’d rather suffer hyperthermia than pay an exorbitant electric bill. We also simply love electric fans, which I just realized makes us Fan Fans. In fact, we’re Fantastic Fan Fans, as I have a collection of wonderful old Eskimos, Polar Clubs, GEs, etc., which are a joy to look at, provide a delicious breeze, and have a sound that – for me, anyway – triggers time travel. Nothing transports me back to a simpler, more carefree time than the soothing ker-fladdle, ker-fladdle, ker-fladdle of a fan with a cast iron base and a wiggly-wire cage. I think a video of one could be as popular as the famous crackling fireplace (please make royalty checks payable to me, thanks). 

 

My absolute favorite heat-beater photo is of an amply-proportioned woman in a tube top holding a hamburger in one hand, fries in the other, and sucking on the straw of her drink, which is doing double duty wedged into her cleavage. One might question her refinement, but certainly not her practical problem-solving skills. I wouldn’t be surprised if she had a Popsicle secretly nestled in a crease somewhere.