I’m often asked by the Yankees I left behind up north,
“How can you stand the humidity down there?”
My favorite response is: “What humidity?”
I’d never admit it to my buddies, who are shopping for winter coats about now, but the humidity really does get to me by the end of the summer. I have a powerful method of beating the heat, though. I use my “lemonade and vodka out of lemons” mentality to spin the stifling humidity into something “potable.” Okay, you really can’t drink humidity, but I gobble up the warmth with the appetite of one born and raised with four seasons. Well, it’s really two in New York, sweat and shiver, but who’s counting?