Generally speaking, mid-May in the Washington, DC area is hellishly hot and humid. Often, the May weather is just as bad as the wretched swamp heat of August. It pounds down on you like a surly giant smacking you with a steaming, dirty, wet towel studded with rusty thumbtacks.
Simply speaking, it's not nice.
You come to understand why there are so many references to southern women always sitting in the shade on the veranda drinking mint juleps and fanning themselves. It's because you can't move when the heat and the humidity combines to melt your shoes and fuse them to the floor.
However, this year, we appear to be experiencing a freak run of unseasonably cool weather. As a Northern Girl, I find this absolutely delightful. I enjoy wearing sweaters and big fuzzy socks. I have a closet full of coats that never see full use here, south of the Mason-Dixon Line. It's mahvelous, frankly. Just bee-yoo-ti-ful.
Except last night, it was so damn cold in my apartment, my southern livin'-thinned blood turned to Slurpee. I didn't realize how cold it was until about 1 a.m. I was at the computer, typing up a short report for a secret shopping assignment (fun way to make $10 in 15 minutes and look at nice things you can't afford to buy), and suddenly, I realized I could see my breath hanging in the air before me. My feet and hands were ice cold, so I threw on another layer of clothes and raced around the apartment, closing windows and the sliding balcony door.
I ended up sleeping in heavy socks, a turtleneck and sweats, buried under three polarfleece blankets. Pathetic, but true. And yet, in some perverse way, I really enjoyed it. I felt like I was back in the Midwest, where nighttime weather can go freaky on you all the time. (Try snow in Minnesota in May on for size, people.) I slept like a log, roasty toasty warm and had utterly bizarre dreams all night. Of course, I don't remember a single one now, but that's neither here nor there. It's the 21st of May and I didn't have to worry about flopping around in a bucket of sweat. Thank ya, Jesus.
But I know it's coming - the inevitable wave of oppressive humidity matched with hideously high heat, like a foul demon belch from the belly of the earth.
Enjoy it while you can kiddies, for the flopsweat, she is coming.