It’s 42 degrees Centigrade outside. It’s Beersheva, I’m telling myself. You live in the desert. The mental exercise of stating the obvious fails its purpose this time; nothing helps.
I am actually quite hungry, but I can’t go out to get some food. The weather is so appallingly unapologetic that it makes me sick with admiration for its chutzpah; it is pouring the heat from the sky as if the Sun suddenly remembered this little speck of a country on the map and turned us into a handful of breathless grains of corn on a burning-red frying pan.
I am quite confident that we are about to be served to some kind of a giant, who is craving for popcorn and the Sun in its heated and twisted mind moves closer on us and awaits the first sound of popping and then before we know it, we will all turn into the “Popping Popcorn Orchestra”.
I do not complain. Anyone who spent even a second in Israel knows that this country is amazing, but why, oh why, does it have to be so hot? Each time one leaves the house it feels like exiting an appealing, air-conditioned cooler and entering a fully heated oven; the heat is so tangible that you can feel it with your hands. It’s so close to your skin that you know you can’t escape it and no amount of layers of clothes, or lack thereof for that matter, succeeds in maintaining any type of protective barrier. In fact the clothes soak up your sweat in a matter of minutes and create a doubled layer of heat. You feel like an old-school, English, non-kosher and smelly ‘pig in a blanket’.
I am a laughing stock for everyone. I look as if I was born in the Sun and thus I should be able to accommodate high temperatures without a peep. I do not make a peep; I whine. I do not run towards the Sun with my arms stretched in an inviting gesture; I snarl at it. I wear hats to avoid heat-induced headache. I wear sunblock to protect my skin. I shlep bottles of water and run from shade to shade for unpromising shelter. If I am on the beach I sit closest to the water, in the shadow of multiple umbrellas and I constantly pester the men responsible for them to move them from right to left so I can hide underneath them fully. I pester friends to get me ice cream. In fact, I do not go to be beach during the day at all, if I were to be fully honest. I am transforming into a full-time vampire, incapable of standing the Sun.
So, if you excuse me ladies and gentlemen, I am going to hibernate and ‘vampirise’ now. The shutters are down. The air-coned coffin is out. Do not call me out. I do not exist.