Roastus Toastus

I realize that perhaps I harp too much about the weather here, but I just wanted to update everyone that I have officially dubbed how spring feels in Monterrey--roastus toastus. Think crispy, burns-your-hand hot tortillas, fresh off the iron skillet hot. Imagine sweat spots sprouting across the back of your t-shirt, feeling sticky behind your knees and discovering that your eyeliner has mysteriously smudged south in the sheer heat. Picture dry lips that do not respond to excessive amounts of water and running to the corner store in desperation for popsicles and ice cream. Oh yes. It's begun. And it's going to get worse? Uh oh. I think I better pencil in a nice cold dip in a Wisconsin lake in the upcoming months and the very thought that such a lake is probably currently shedding its stiff ice covering as I write, provides me such comfort.