Yesterday morning was a gorgeous morning. By 8 am the temperature was in the low 80's and sunny, perfect weather for enjoying an open sunroof and rolled down windows on my way to work, right? About a block down the road the windows were on their way up. Somewhere, somehow, after dealing with 115 degree days my skin had apparently thinned to the point that 80 degrees felt a little cool. Pathetic. I knew I would acclimate to the weather here, and eventually come to call 65 scarf weather, but honestly, a chill at 80, that’s just sad.
Ten months ago we took a trip from VA to AZ to confirm that we wanted to make an eventual move to the desert. I remember stepping out of the plane and wishing it was appropriate to stop in the middle of the jetway to get my shoes off and slide my flip flops on, but considering the potential for residual air-rage I made it past the initial boarding zone to make the swap like an appropriate passenger. The 50 degree temperature difference between the Old Dominion and The Valley was heavenly. We toured the Phoenix area donning shorts and flip flops while locals wore their sweatshirts and jeans. Yeah, sure eventually that would be us, bundled up against the icy cold of 60 degrees, but not for a good while.
Adding insult to injury was when I fessed up to my mom that I felt a shiver at 80 and she informed me that she woke up to a morning temperature of 28 degrees. After a much deserved laugh she was kind enough to mention that perhaps this is a true sign that I belong in the desert. Yes, perhaps.
Last weekend I chuckled to myself as I ran by the person in their long-sleeve shirt when it was about 82 out… maybe I shouldn't have chuckled so soon.
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