You asked for it.

I could see my breath on the way to work as late in the month as June 16th.  For real.  My buddy at work, Bea, she told she had never met anyone so obsessed with seeing their breath.  I tried to explain that it was not the phenomenon of visible breath itself that attracted my attention so much what it indicated about the current weather situation – June 16, it’s cold out.  See-your-breath cold out.  I did talk about it a lot, I guess.  I talked about it because it was interesting, because I like the weather, and because it was something to talk about.  I sit chairside with people while their mouths go numb so we can drill their tooth out, we’ve got to talk about something neutral!  But just because I talked about it a lot doesn’t mean I wanted it to end.  And it certainly doesn’t mean I wanted it to get hot out.

Saturday, it finally felt like June here in Chicago.  It was hot.  Ice cream melted instantly.  Eggs fried on the sidewalk.  Mac and I took a walk to the bookstore, and the air was slow, sweaty, sticky, gross.  I was slow, sweaty, sticky, gross.  I turned to him and said, “ok, summer, we did it.  I’m ready for winter now.”

Mac’s gaze remained steady on the hazy horizon.  ”Nope,” he said, “I could go another week or so.”

Break out your sundresses, kids.  It’s (finally… finally?) summer.

Tags: Chicago, weather, wishful thinking