This morning when the elevator doors opened to our department’s floor, a wash of hot, sticky, lifeless air smacked me in the face, and I immediately broke into a full body sweat.
It’s only May.
Clearly, Houston, we have a problem.
There is no way in hell five women, one of them in the throes of menopause, will ever be able to hack the spring and summer months in this kind of heat.
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