Yesterday, the weather was sunny, warm, and perfect.
As we left for Malcolm’s baseball game at 6 PM, I grabbed a hooded sweatshirt, worrying, “Will this be enough?” Chris assured me it would. After all, the air was still balmy. The car was roasting. The sun was strong when we arrived.
I knew that before long, I would regret not bringing a blanket or a winter coat….because our Little League compound has a micro-climate that always registers 20 degree chillier than the rest of the county. It’s like a Bermuda Triangle of atmospheric pressure. All heat is somehow sucked out of the air. And it affects ONLY adults.
All the boys playing baseball in their short-sleeved jerseys are unfazed. All the little siblings running around in their shorts and flimsy T-shirts, with zero percent body fat, eating water ice? Not a shiver in sight. (same syndrome as opening week of the swimming pool). It’s the parents who freeze.
Case in point, three mothers of brothers wishing for a bonfire, while their sons play ball with nary a goosebump.
I’m older than Kristen and Jane, shivering with me in this photo, so I speak only for myself when I say “Where’s a good series of hot flashes when you need them?”
I actually WANT my body to turn instantly into a hormone-powered kiln when I’m at the Little League fields. But what do I get? No cooperation.