Nelly – maybe you were nearby, cuz it was sure gettin’ hot up in here!  It was freaking hot!  114 degrees hot!  That’s right.  It was Dante’s Inferno hot.  And it was not one of those supposed “dry” heats they have in Vegas or Phoenix.  Oh, no, it was a musty, instant sweat-dripping humidity. 

Now normally heat usually beats out cold at rock, paper, scissors any day of the week in my book, but not the last couple of weeks.  Springfield, Missouri moved into 2nd place last week.  Literally referencing the hottest places I’ve ever been to gave my friend the full effect of how hideous it really was.  I told her it was Kansas Jr. Nationals hot.  Kansas was 15 years ago and is still engrained in my mind as the week that farmers with their overtly white legs chose the pool over watching their livestock and shooting the shit with fellow farmers. (Yeah, really, it happened.  If you know anything about farmers you realize the severity of the situation!) The third place finisher was my friend’s wedding 11 years ago where the wedding candles were blown out in hopes of reducing the heat factor in whatever miniscule way we could find.  The top 3 will reside in my memory as the hottest effing times in my life, much worse than the hot flashes I had when my husband announced our engagement in front of his parents or the beams of light shining down on me as my 5th grade teacher interrogated me over my foul mouth.  So yeah, I’m talking effing hot!

What I’ve noticed though is that people refer to the heat in interesting ways.  Hotter than Hell seems to be at least a fairly accurate gauge of the blistering burn, but then there’s the likes of hotter than snot.  Where did we get that one?  Or hotter than a 2 dollar pistol – oh, yeah, I know my country music.  Or you can wilt like a flower, which again, that might actually be a good comparison, but I’m no flower-child.  Of course, there are lots of references to food.  It’s so hot you can fry a pancake on the sidewalk.  According to Kate Perry, it’ll melt your Popsicle (not so sure she’s talking food here, but whatevs.).  You can be just so damn sweet that the heat can melt you like ice cream (which for the record, I melt like ice in a cooler full of hot beer). It’s so hot, you can fry like chicken. But my personal fave is that it’s so hot, I roasted like a pig on a spit.   However, I’ve gotta say that every time I say, “it’s so hot…” I feel like I should be making a “yer momma” joke.  Then again, from what I hear, she’s so hot yer momma’s on fire every night!  (Don’t judge me – the heat really is affecting my better judgment.)

The thing about heat is that it gets in your head… and in your pants.  And not in a good way.   I’m talking the kind of hotness that plagues your body making you ooze sweat, where you feel soggy when you stand up from sitting in a plastic chair and others notice butt crack sweat leaving a line down your booty seam.  I’m talking the beaded pools that form on your forehead and literally drip like an annoying leaky faucet down the front of your shirt till you are completely drenched to the point of an unintentional wet t-shirt contest.  I’m talking the kind that makes your sunglasses fog up when you drink a glass of ice cold water that freaking has a sipper lid on it!  Yeah, I’m talking about high temperatures that make you want to rip off your clothes even when you’re fat, pale, and old because it beats the hell out of getting heat rash, baking in your own pond of foul-smelling perspiration, and feeling the gas-chamber effect pushing you to fall into a deathly sleep.  That’s the hot I’m talkin’ about.

Then again, it’s that and a great tan, or using a hairdryer to thaw the growing patch of frostbite on your foot like in mid-January…