I Feel Swindled

Dear Maine,

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I am sitting here at 11:00 PM feeling betrayed.

Feeling double-crossed.

Mislead, swindled, hoodwinked, tricked, and deceived.

You see, I thought we had come to some sort of understanding. An informal pact if you will.

I was under the notion that because I, (Well, I and the other 1.5 million people living here),  had agreed to a certain way of life, were allowed certain treatment around this life.

An agreement that includes snow. Lots of it. Enough to sometimes trap you inside.

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Well not trap you, but at least cause you to take an extra 5 minutes to put on another pair of mittens that your Grammy made for you over your gloves, and make sure your pants are tucked into your socks reaaaaaaaaaaal tight.

And ice. The type that you can see, and the type that you can't see.
The type that hangs off of the roofs of buildings with poor insulation, threatening to fall on top of you at any time.
And the type of frozen H20 that you awkwardly slip on two feet away from the car so you're wet for the rest of the day at work.

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Don't worry, you'll just look like you peed yourself.

Or pooped yourself.

Depending on which way you were able to catch yourself on the way down.

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Just make sure you don't  break your hip. That gets serious way fast.

Us, the residents of Maine, put up with freezing cold temperatures. Enough to freeze your boogers and your hair.

We put up with winterlike conditions sometimes lasting up to 6 months.

Seriously. First snow in November and last one in April?

Count it. 6 months.


We subject ourselves to unfashionable parkas, wool socks, ice scraping, getting up extra early to start our cars, boot knocking on doors, a super muddy and prolonged spring and rusty parts on the bottom of our cars because of that gosh darn road salt. 

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We go ahead and accede to all of these things with the understanding that we get some benefits. 


These benefits include, but are not limited to:
- That cozy feeling when you cuddle in with a loved one under a warm blanket during the winter. 
- An excuse to buy cute muck and rain boots because damn is there a lot of mud in the spring. 
-Looking at pretty leaves in the fall while wearing a sweater and jeans. 
- Lighthouses. 
-Moose.
-L.L. Bean. It's open 24 hours a day. Hanging out in tents  in a store at 3 A.M. is more fun than it sounds. Promise.
- Not being required to say our "R"s at the end of certain words.
-Not having to deal with poisonious snakes or insects.
- Beaches, camping, and the smell of the ocean on a summer day when on the coast. 


And certainly, but definitely not least, we all put up with your silly and confused antics with the understanding that while it may get hot in the summer, it will always settle down to a nice comfortable temperature at night. 


But you, mad'am, have been breaking this unspoken pact. At 9:30 tonight it was 80 degrees. 


Seriously? 80 degrees? 


This isn't Cuba. Or else I would be wearing a coconut bra. 


And waiting for my connecting flight back through Canada because no matter how wonderful the ocean is, 80 degrees is too hot. I'm heading back to Maine. 


Oh wait. Already here. 


You not only let this temperature linger well into the night, but it's also humid. Sticky, wet, can see the air when you're outside humid. 


I've been finding ways to manage. Going to the gym, going to the grocery store, holding the ice cube tray to my face, and drinking lots of water. 


Because I wasn't planning on sleeping all night with this heat anyway. If the sweat doesn't keep me up, the trips to the bathroom will. 


Now, I'll let this go on for another week. I'll blast my fan, I'll take naps on the hardwood, and consume multiple fudgsicles at a time. 


If I have to. 


But after that, if you don't turn things around, I might ask you to sign some sort of contract or agreement. Comfortable temperatures for sleeping arrangements are a serious matter in this household.




And I can only share "the big fan" for so long. 


So, thank you in advance for accomodating this request. If you can't get your act together and continue to act like a literally hot mess I'm going to have to move. To somewhere like Georgia. 


That way I'll suffer the hot temperatures, but at least I'll get the benefit of walking around and pretending to have a southern accent. Or a british one. I haven't decided. 


Believe me when I say that if I left, I'd take all of the Moose with me.


 Love Your Long-term and Loving Resident, 


That would never actually permanently leave you no matter how hot it got,


Tricia


P.S. But seriously, take a chill pill.