I Did Not Win That Competetion

Growing up in the Mojave Desert, I thought I knew heat. Barstow in August is an incinerator where the air smells like melted asphalt and roasted lizard skin. Barstow is the home of the world's largest thermometer for a reason... the area is hot enough to melt your soul. So, when I met Jerimiah (a man who is, for the record, a walking, breathing smoke show) I assumed my thermal credentials were fully established.

We became a thing in the summer of 2012, trading cutesy texts across state lines. I complained about the weather that whole summer, bragging that my side of the country was currently sitting at a scorching 108 degrees.

Jerimiah wasted no time shooting back, "No, I'M hot!"

"I literally live in the desert," I replied, rolling my eyes. "I just checked Lindale. It's 86 degrees there. You're practically living in a refrigerator. Shut up."

He started rambling about relative humidity, dew points, blah.. blah... blah. I ignored every word. 86 was a nice spring day. Math was math and 108 was higher than 86. I won that competition.

I retained that arrogant victory right up until the night I moved to East Texas.

We pulled into a Dallas gas station at around 3 a.m. after what felt like an endless cross-country drive. Jerimiah stretched his arms and asked, "Want to head inside for a drink?"

"Yes!" I said, swinging my legs out.

My black high-heeled boots hit the asphalt of Texas for the first time, and my lungs instantly collapsed. The air didn't feel like air. It felt like stepping into an industrial dishwashing sauna full of wet, hot laundry. I stood there, paralyzed, gasping for oxygen that had been boiled away hours ago.

"Woah..." I choked out. "Does it feel like this all the time?"

"Like what?" Jerimiah asked, completely unfazed.

My stomach dropped. That meant yes. It was an oven. A moist oven. A damp, suffocating oven operating at maximum capacity while the rest of the planet was asleep.

In the early days, we dodged the monster by existing like nocturnal creatures. Jerimiah worked the graveyard shift as a local gas station, so our entire life happened between midnight and 4 a.m. Back then, Walmart was open 24 hours. We would be able to wander the vacant, air-conditioned aisles on his nights off, buying only very few items because our bank account was tragic after sacrificing every penny for my move there. The excruciating heat didn't bother us because we only saw the sun through closed blinds and thick, heavy, black curtains.

But life evolved and Jerimiah scored a great job at the target Distribution center. Now he was working bright and shiny day time hours. We actually had grocery money and stability. Also, I was pregnant with our first child.

By the third trimester, I was a portable planetary body generating its own gravitational pull and thermal mass. If I had to venture a guess, I'd say my internal temperature hovered around core of the sun, and my tolerance for nearly everything dropped to absolute zero.

Which brings us to the Saturday afternoon from Hell.

I was waddling down the Walmart aisles in Lindale, stomping those same black heels against the linoleum while my lower back and left ass cheek screamed in agony. One of the many beautiful things about pregnancy was the sciatica I developed. Ever had it? It's like having a live electrical current shoot down your ass cheek and leg simultaneously. 0/10 stars. Do not recommend.

And I know what you're thinking... you're pregnant, Stupid. Why are you in heels? Because I'm a stubborn bitch who refused to give up her identity for comfort even though my legs were swollen like two small tree trunks.

"What do you want for dinner this week?" I snapped.

Jerimiah shrugged. "I don't care. Whatever you want."

"Ok, well I want a handful of ruffles covered in alfredo sauce and a side of gummy octopus... so if that's not cool with you, you should speak up now." I said.

"I don't know what sounds good." He said.

"Fine. I'm buying salt and chocolate ice cream. That's it." I stomped off.

I'd made the mistake of leaving the grocery list at home. Having an actual budget to buy real food was still a bizarre concept to me, let alone organizing the money into a pre-planned list. Now, I was floating through the store like a giant, confused whale, carrying 40 extra pounds of baby and water weight while burning with an unholy inner fire.

"You wanna barbecue?" Jerimiah asked.

"It's hot as balls." I raised an eyebrow. "Why would we make food that requires actual wild fire to cook?"

Jerimiah laughed and we eventually loaded the cart and made our way out of the store into the blinding light of the parking lot. The humidity slapped me in the fact like a wet bath towel. I climbed my massive pregnant butt into the passenger seat, gasping for a breath while Jerimiah loaded in the groceries.

"Get in and please turn the air on high," I begged the second her opened his door.

He cranked the engine and the fans blew hard. But instead of cold, crispy air, the vents unleashed a huge breath straight from Satan's mouth into my face.

I looked at Jerimiah in complete agony. "No." I whined.

He hit the buttons. "Hold on. Give it a second."

The air refused to get any colder. It only got hotter and smelled like metal and betrayal.

"I think the compressor went out." Jerimiah sighed.

"NO! God, please no!" I cried, clutching my giant belly as sweat began to pour from every piece of my body. "I'm roasting like a rotisserie chicken!"

"Calm down!" Jerimiah patted my leg. "Traffic is a little slow, but we'll be home in like ten minutes."

Lindale was bursting at the seams. Half the country had seemingly moved to Texas, and every single one of them was currently idling their heavy trucks directly in front of our bumper. We were trapped in a parking lot disguised as a highway. I was dying. It took nearly ten minutes just to hit the back road to our house where we could actually pick up speed.

"Roll the windows down." I begged, using my dress like a fan.

Jerimiah hit the switch and the glass slid down. A stiff gust of Texas air swept in. It didn't cool either one of us off. It just felt like standing directly in front of a giant hair dryer set on maximum heat while someone squirted hot water in my face.

"This isn't air." I said. "This is like standing in the bathroom while someone takes the hottest shower ever."

I stuck my hand out the window, hoping to maybe catch a pocket of cool air somehow. It didn't work. What I caught instead was a giant wasp that slapped me in the arm and landed right on my exposed thigh. It stung and I screamed. I slapped my leg as a spike of agony shot through it.

"It stung me!" I said in shock.

"A bee?" Jerimiah asked, swerving slightly.

"A wasp just stung me in the leg!" I screamed. "This has never happened to me before, what do I do?!" I am allergic to bees, so I immediately started to panic. I was hyperventilating in 98 degree air while clutching my swelling leg and my swollen baby bump. I looked over at Jerimiah. "I think Texas is trying to kill me!" I cried.

"We're pulling in! We're at the house." Jerimiah pulled the car into our driveway.

I didn't wait for him to help me out. I kicked the door open and abandoned him and the groceries in the trunk. I waddled up the front stairs like a woman possessed. The second my high heeled foot crossed that threshold into the air-conditioned living room, the strip tease of pure rage began.

I kicked off my left boot. It crashed against the baseboard.

I kicked off the right, which ricocheted off of the counter.

I peeled off my soaked dress, my jewelry, my bra and undies, all of it, leaving a trail of damp garments down the hallway like breadcrumbs. By the time I reached the master bathroom, I was butt naked and exhausted.

I stepped into the shower, turned the faucet to ice cold and stood directly under that freezing stream of Heaven. I felt nauseated.

A few minutes later, the shower door cracked open. Jerimiah stood there with a glistening glass of ice and ginger ale, looking a little terrified and worried. He sat staring at his dripping, frozen, and enormously pregnant mess of a wife.

"I brought you this." He smiled, offering the drink.

I smiled under the pouring water, my hair plastered to my face like a horror movie villain.

"It is too fucking hot for this shit." I sighed. I wiped my running mascara away from my eyes and took the drink. "I am too pregnant for this heat."

Jerimiah nodded. "Understood."

"I'm never leaving the house again." I said after a huge slurp of ginger ale, staring him dead in the eye. "Ever."