The thing about modern Floridians and their relationship with heat and humidity
I noticed it the first time I entered her apartment: no air conditioner. How could that be? "I just open the windows to let in the breeze," she said, as if it were obvious. As if we lived in some prehistoric time. That was grounds for dumping her right there. I needed a woman who took control of her environment, who did not gamble with comfort. But it was February, and I was being presumptuous to think we'd last until June anyway.
Friends are confused by how poorly I tolerate the summer air. "Aren't you from Florida?" they ask. Yes. That's the point. Living in Florida means enduring small bursts of heat as we scamper between cooled boxes. I never had to acclimate to 90 degrees. Nobody should have to. ...
Air conditioning is our savior -- but also a giant energy hog. An unfortunate conundrum.