Nat King Cole sang, "It's those hazy, lazy, crazy days of summer".
The man was a twit. He made that sound like a good thing, which it isn't. It's miserable. You can't live in it. It's a bitch.
"Nat, this song doesn't make sense".
"So? I'll sell it, then live inside with air-conditioning".
Let's pretend you're a contractor with a contract to pave a parking lot with asphalt. Asphalt is hot and has to be worked hot. The sun is shining in all it's glory, burning the hide off you. Your workers decide it's too hot to work so they stay home until it cools off. Like in October. You hire extra guys to make up for the daily deficit of workers. Then they all show up. You need a new line of business.
And what do your workers say? "Mano, eet too hot to work".
You say, "You're a Mexican! You're used to this!"
"Why is you think I leave there?"
Or, say you spend a thousand bucks on trees and plants and flowers. You get a heat stroke planting them over a weekend. The next weekend you have nothing but brown, dead flowers, plants and trees. The only green in your yard is the weeds. They love the heat and humidity. Should have planted the weeds in the first place and been done with it.
"Next year we buy hardier flowers."
The weeds just laugh or whatever they do to express amusement.
Next, you go to the beach for a week on vacation. It's 200 a night plus eating out. The first three days it rains. Monsoon rains. Then the sun comes out and you try to salvage the vacation. You can't because it's too hot to go to the beach while the sun is up. The sand is so hot you get blisters on your feet. No one but your fourteen- year old daughter, just sprouting, enjoys this. Still, next year you'll be back.
"But, Daddy, I'm covered where it counts".
"Not if I'm the one counting".
Meanwhile, Nat King Cole -- actually his heirs, are living off the royalties to the song.
In air-conditioning.
-- Copyright © Don Roble
