It’s summer. It’s sunny and very warm. And I’m miserable.
I’m hot. I’m sweaty. I’m short-tempered. I’m humourless. I have zero patience, zero sympathy, zero empathy. I don’t want to get closer than arm’s distance to anyone for any reason. I’m never ever ever comfortable.
And I’m bitchy.
I whine in mugginess… kvetch in warm weather… bitch in heat.
I hate bitchiness! One of my mottos is ‘Life is too short for bitchy people!’ And each summer, I turn into the person I hate.
For over ten months of the year, I’m cheerful and upbeat, spreading sweetness and light everywhere I go! But during the summer, I have no sense of humour whatsoever. Even being merely civil is an effort for me. Being pleasant is a chore. As for being nice? An almost Herculean task.
Luckily, in my little corner of The Great White North, there are maybe a dozen or so days in the summer that are ‘hot’ by most standards. Of those, maybe three or four are very hot (ie in the high 90s F and sometimes just over 100F).
The problem with that situation is that most people I know, and I am presuming that ‘most people I know’ reflect a fairly average sampling of the population, really don’t mind when the temperature gets up there. Most people are delighted when the mercury climbs to 80F and beyond.
Only when heat reaches well over 90F do they start to exhibit the symptoms that I display when things get much above room temperature. Only then do these allegedly normal people ask questions like “Golly, I wonder what people did before air conditioning!” (Answer: They Died!!) 
I don’t mean to be this way… really, I don’t! While many animals hibernate in the winter, I’d love to nod off after Shavuos (late May – early June) and wake up in time for Rosh HaShana (early September – early October).
I want to estivate! 
I try my best to be quiet during the summer. I know that people don’t want to hear me kvetch any more than I want to hear them moan and complain about it being so darned cold every time things drop below room temperature (i.e. the remaining ten months of the year).
I’ll try to be nice.
All I can say is that, in return, each city needs to erect a statue to the man who invented air conditioning!
 A dear entomologist friend of mine told me that bedbugs die at about 110 degrees Fahrenheit. I can still hear his charming nerd-chic voice saying, “Mind you… I suppose most people start pegging out at about 110, too!”
 To spend a hot, dry season in an inactive, dormant state, as certain reptiles, snails, insects and small animals.