There's one benefit to being in that awful body-enveloping humidity that I experienced in Youngstown last week: You can't tell when you're having a hot flash. You're already dripping with sweat, so what's one more bead of perspiration on your forehead?
Isn't it interesting that all those years I lived in Florida I don't remember ever saying, "boy, it's humid today." When you're surrounded all the time with that moisture, you don't seem to notice it. But after seven-and-a-half years in the desert, I notice it. Boy, do I notice it.
Of course, the morning after I arrived back in Tucson, my heel cracked again.
Woe is me.
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