Miss Swear Girl on the loose!

The first time I visited Ireland it was a freak summer. It was hot which I’m sure was attributed to some kind of global warming/carbon overload/all around bad human behavior. People were dying in France because they didn’t have air conditioning. I was breaking a slight sweat in Ireland because there isn’t a person here who even has a fan and now I know why: there is no point in having an air cooling system when, in the middle of June, we HAVE TO LAYER TO BE WARM.

What the hell? I mean that -- what the hell (I can just hear my mother tutting over the internet at the word “hell” and calling me “Miss Swear Girl”. Apparently the swearing side of me never gets the opportunity to get married.) I’m trying to warm up my fingers as I type this. We are fetching logs out back to create a fire pit in-between all the cubicles. We have men working the coal mines in Wales. We are moving our desks closer to one another to share body-heat and someone smells like bananas. What I’m trying to say is IT IS COLD HERE. (And I have the tendency to exaggerate.)

It is mid-June and the temperature is TOPPING at 58, there is absolutely ZERO SUNLIGHT and rain for the rest of the week. I know that’s not exactly Siberia (which right now is warmer than Ireland) but damn, at home people are taking off their clothes regardless of who is around and standing their bodies over the central air vent. While at work.

There is no better feeling than the feeling of unbelievable heat followed immediately by the whoosh of going through a door and into air conditioned blissfulness. I miss this feeling. It’s like a giant, all-consuming sigh of relief. I miss the sweat on the back of my legs and the overuse of antiperspirant. I miss wearing completely inappropriate clothing to work and have it be considered acceptable because everyone has an inner fear of sweat-spots.

I miss home in the summer, even if it means I’d have to sweat my dignity off to be there.

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Liz in Dublin