Freezing rain and winter weather makes me yearn for summer. Some summer memories are best forgotten, though.
The administrator at my new school planned an evening luau on the school parking lot to kick off the new school year. Faculty, parents, and students were in attendance. We wore long, colorful, lightweight dresses. The stifling humidity and no breeze whatsoever plastered hair to foreheads, underwear to hineys, and dresses to every body part they touched.
Those who indulged in alcoholic beverages laughed and mingled. They were less concerned about the sweat pouring down their foreheads, cleavages, backs, and cracks. I was the new hire and the lone teetotaler, suffering in the oppressive heat.
The only breeze anywhere was down the steps in the hotter-than-hell parish hall where the bathrooms were.
Someone had set up a round, industrial-size floor fan outside the johns. Even though I did not have to use the bathroom, because I had sweated every ounce of fluid out of my body, I couldn't take it another minute. I crept down the church steps, made sure both bathrooms were empty and I was alone. Then I raised my dress thigh-high and stood directly in front of that commercial hot air blaster. Staring at the ceiling, enjoying the cooling process, I did not hear Andy's dad. I looked backward over my shoulder when he said, "Well that's one way to meet the new teacher."
I would have cried if I'd had any tears. I was mortified.