I love living in the Mid-Atlantic states. There’s something about experiencing all four seasons that brings peace to my inner soul. Warmer and more arid climates are nice to visit but I decided long ago that my skin and hair (and psyche) do best right here, smack dab in the middle of the East Coast.
The weather here can be weird, though. No, we don’t get super extreme weather often. We do get our share of hurricanes and flooding. We get the occasional two feet of snow followed two days later by a nor’easter with another two feet of snow (that’s four feet of snow for those of you not good at math). We get the three aitches (HHH) in the summer: hazy, hot, and humid.
That last word really scares the heck out of people. HUMID, HUMID, HUMID. Ha.
Is it the most humid climate? Certainly not. I’ve been to Florida, Georgia and Tennessee in the summer. That’s not fun. But nothing make me laugh more than folks complaining that it’s SOOOO HUMID! IN! THE! WEST! TODAY! And it’s about 40% humidity. Which is heaven on a stick on the East Coast, yo.
The problem with this climate? Rain. Lots of it. Not as much as say, Seattle, but we get more than our fair share. Especially when the seasons change. During some storms we get a few inches all at once, which means Lake Erie forms in my yard for a few hours. During tropical storms and hurricanes, I get three out of five of the Great Lakes. It’s a sight to behold.
I have nothing against the Great Lakes, to be honest. It’s the fact that I have dogs that makes me ZOMG SO GLAD I DID NOT MOP TODAY. Because there would be no point. 90% of my backyard was just tracked into my kitchen. Yes, I’m aware if I didn’t have dogs I wouldn’t have this problem but as I told my husband a long time ago, I’m a dog person. Dogs are part of the deal. You want me? You get dogs.
This, of course, means I have extra chores to do. Because I have PLENTY OF TIME on my hands. In addition to the regular chores, I have to take care of my dogs. So they stay alive and clean and stuff. I have to hose them off during rain storms–that’s a given. So are muddy dog prints on my kitchen floor. But one of my dogs has a propensity for making sure that despite the fact that she hates baths, she will come back into the house after spending exactly thirty-one seconds outside looking like she was dipped in chocolate. Except it isn’t chocolate. It’s part of my backyard.
Mud. That’s me. My middle name. MUD.