This is our first full summer living here in Charleston part deux and I have clearly forgotten what summers here are like. To give you a bit of an idea my runs are miserable due to the fact that I just plain over heat. My legs are fine, my lungs are fine and I am sweating like a pig but it doesn't help because running in South Carolina during the summer is like trying to run through a steam dryer. It is so stupid humid that my little herb garden is getting mildew and I am hoping against all odds that my little basil and rosemary will pull through. But as cranky as the heat and humidity makes me that is not my biggest issue.
I had sort of forgotten what it is like to live in both a part of the country and a part of town that facilitates the growth of devil spawn, mutant-sized insects. Seriously. We live right off protected wetlands. And when I say we live right off of them I don't mean that they are like across the highway, I mean you head to the back of our building and there is 4 ft of grass then, BAM! Trees, brush and, presumably swamp, or something, I don't really know, you won't catch me heading back there. My friend, Amy, as nicknamed our complex Jurassic Park. If you hang out at the pool (which faces the wetlands) it doesn't take much imagination to see the trees shake a little then T-Rex spring from the woods with Laura Dern in his mouth or something.
Needless to say, this whole situation has turned me into a giant moron. I look like a fugitive every time I step out my front door. Eyes darting everywhere, hyper alert, doing everything but carrying a mirror on a stick to peer around corners. I took the dog out a few days ago and a frog jumped on my (oh yeah, there are frogs and lizards too but they don't gross me out as much) and I just assumed the frog was a moth (basically my kryptonite) and I screamed, loudly, at like 11 pm. That wasn't the first time something like that has happened either.
This has also caused several odd phone calls to my dad. Growing up in the Midwest I have a very justified paranoia of spiders. Not scared of them in principal, but convinced that each and everyone I see is a brown recluse. Some of you out there should be familiar with that. The ritual of shaking out your boots the first time you pull them out of the closet each season to make sure there weren't any recluse spiders hiding in there waiting to take off your foot.
There have been two great variations of these phone calls. The first where I wouldn't get out of the car due to the fact that there was an unrecognized (and still unknown) spider the size of a damn golf ball in my garage. Car door open, pulled in the garage, totally hot outside and I freeze. You know cause spiders are like T-Rexes, their vision is based on movement. And with my eyes not leaving the spider I reach for my phone.
Then, after meeting up with the Andre the Giant of spiders in my garage the smaller ones that made it into my house lost some of their intimidation so I now whack them with shoes. But I am still convinced that they might be poisonous so I do they only sensible thing and carefully collect the little spider corpse in a bag so that I can text a photo to my dad and/or save it till my husband gets home to verify that no, it is not full of deadly venom and no, we do not need to have the condo fumigated.
Oh, I am so, so ready for fall....