Is 40 the new 30?

Remember when Marlon Brando went all ‘crazy town’ in Apocalypse Now? When the blistering jungle claimed his sanity and made him a sweaty, savage renegade?  I sort of get how that happened now. Well, I mean without all the war and bloodshed and things. Granted, our heat wave wasn’t long enough for me to lose my entire mind, shave my head or conduct a reign of terror. But I did conduct a reign of night sweats so bad I thought I had early menopause. The horror….

We have no a/c in our bedroom.  Sure, I could have slept in the living room where we do have it. But I didn’t want to leave my bed. It’s so comfy and conveniently located beside my alarm clock. I convinced myself I could weather the sweltering temperatures while maintaining my beloved creature comforts.  Basically, I was prepared to go down with the ship.

Scott wasn’t.  He rowed his life-raft to the living room couch and I spent the night waking up feverish, in a tangle of damp bed sheets. Tossing, turning. Drifting in and out of poisonous, malaria-riddled dreams, clawing the air to make sure my delirium-invented mosquito netting was still intact.

I swam to the couch the next night. In fact, during last week’s heatwave, our bedroom was the sweatiest room in our entire place. (And yes you can make your own joke here, but remember my mom is probably reading this.)

Prolonged heat definitely makes you do batty things. It makes your brain decelerate. It’s like every synapse is sealed in molasses and your connection speed is pathetically slow. If our lives last week were represented by a YouTube video, the screen would be stamped with that buffering circle on it.

At least the heat was a good scapegoat. I did dumb stuff last week and blamed it on the heat: like when I couldn’t find my car keys and realized that I left them ON TOP OF MY CAR, when I put the ice cube tray in the kitchen cupboard, or when I forgot to answer Final Jeopardy in the form of a question.

It was even too hot for people to sit out on terraces. Montrealers, who’ll bust out the shorts and head to the patios when the thermometer kisses 13C – were having absolutely none of that business.  Ever try to pry your bare thighs from plastic patio furniture?

In 40 degrees, your bare thighs become part of the patio furniture.

It should go without saying that if it’s too hot for people out there, it’s too hot for pets. Even inside, they aren’t too psyched. Like most dog owners, I am greeted with a dance of joy whenever I come home.  Last week when I walked in, my chihuahuas gave me a half-hearted performance at best. I’m talking, off off off Broadway.  Not even jazz hands. They didn’t enjoy the heat either. And they’re from Mexico.

Yup, so far, it’s been quite an eventful summer in Montreal: an earthquake, a heat wave and a torrential summer storm. If I didn’t know better I’d think someone was trying to make a point. For the record, we’re expected to have more hot weather this week. So, if 40 is the new 30, prepare to start buffering.

Print Link: http://www.themonitor.ca/Opinion/Columns/2010-08-04/article-1652152/Is-40-the-new-30%3F/1