I haven’t seen any warnings from the Health Department, but I expect it won’t be long. It’s been too nice, this never-ending spring. Here it is May, and we still have these delirious temperatures, barely reaching the 80s during the day, and at night, requiring many of us multi-generational Floridians to wear light jackets.
It’s chilly out there, people!
And it just seems to go on forever, like the blooming jasmine will never wilt and fade. Like we can keep wearing flannel pajamas and fur-lined slippers to get the morning newspaper. Like summer might never come.
Almost like … we don’t live in Florida!
Oh my gosh … have we been transported to another dimension … called New Hampshire?
Sorry for raining on the parade, people, but you better get over it. Because we live in Florida. And I’ve got some sobering news for you: It’s sultry here, and flannel kills!
This is Florida, where the state bird is hot. If you look at the state seal, there in the corner is a bird panting. This is a state where car companies once considered glove compartments doubling as toaster ovens. This is a state where air spontaneously combusts.
Which is why it’s time we start treating this like the health epidemic it is. The condition will be called, “Floridians who have forgotten they’re Floridian.” It will have a fancy acronym that just rolls right off the tongue — FWHFTF. (For those who are a little dense, it’s pronounced “fwaft.”)
I think it’s time that the governor declares a state of emergency so we’re ready when the heat kicks in. That we start to take some of the following actions:
• Every pizza restaurant be required to allow residents to stand by the ovens so we can re-acclimate to what sweltering temperatures feel like.
• Anyone caught wearing a winter jacket in public be ticketed for causing a public disturbance by luring us into a false sense of temperature security.
• We begin to tell our kids tales of the olden days, when walking barefoot across asphalt was like dancing across the sun. When our clothes had permanent sweat stains. When the heat-resistant mosquitoes used to carry off the bad children who didn’t eat their broccoli.
• We stop saying things like, “Lovely day for a stroll, isn’t it governor? I could eat this delightful weather with a cherry on top.” That’s not how Floridians talk!!! We’re hot, angry, agitated people, always in a hurry to get somewhere cool. We’re supposed to grunt at each other and snarl, not sound like we’re characters in “Mary Poppins.”
• We start repeating this mantra: “It’s hot. I like it hot. Heat is good for the soul.”
• We start wearing two layers of sweat pants and drinking 12 cups of hot tea a day to simulate a typical summer morning.
• We give thanks for this wonderful weather, but also remind ourselves why we live in Florida: Because we all have a screw loose, we love to complain and while the heat might melt the elastic in our underwear, it also make us the strong, proud people we are.
So, governor, time to launch the “Don’t let FWHFT burn you” campaign.