It is hotter than camel spit in the Sahara down here in Florida. Yes, I know I'm going to hear, "In the desert of California it's 139 degrees in the shade.". Don't forget that you always add the caveat, "But it's a dry heat.". Florida heat is of course a 'wet' heat, and we also have the tropical sun that that will burn through your skin faster than you can slather on that sun block. I myself, try to keep out of the sun, and even though I walk the dogs under shade trees, I still feel the effects of it. I have what could be called a combination tan, half 'farmer tan', and half 'old retired coot in shorts tan'. On my neck and arms are the perfect outline of my favored shirt style, the Polo. With my shirt off it looks like I am wearing a white tee shirt, with deep tanned arms and neck. Down below, I have a nice tan on my legs that starts at the bottom of my Bermuda shorts and runs right on down to the top of my half high socks. It is quite a sight when I look at myself in the mirror in the morning.
The heat is also affecting Mark as it does many people around here. After hours of the heat and sun beating down on people's heads, they seem to suddenly go insane. With Mark it burst forth while we were driving to the 'Gay Days' parade here in Wilton Manors. As we drove through the crowded streets, he began to scream and shout at all the happy people who had congregated for the occasion. "Get the f**k out of my way you assholes!", he screeched. I tried to calm him down, but he only got crazier, and kept railing at the pedestrians who he was sure were "purposely walking slow" just to irritate him. Once we parked and joined the throng, he did calm down, but I've decided to encourage Mark to refill his Xanax prescription. At least until this heat breaks, in about four months.