It's been so warm in San Francisco these past few days (even here in my foggy part of town) and today I finally cracked — I made an iced latte for myself this morning rather than my usually "hot" latte (I guess we just call that a latte). Usually I open the curtains to let the sun flood my room and warm my "office" but today I've got them closed to ward off the hot rays.
San Francisco is trying to tempt me, "See how nice it is here? See how sunny and warm? It's summer, in September!" she says. But I won't have any of it. I remember your cold foggy days, lady. Nearly every month you enshrouded me and mine with a fog so thick I felt the mist on my face as I walked outside. The streets were wet — it looked like it had rained. You were especially cruel through July and August as my friends elsewhere frolicked in t-shirts and shorts while I sat bundled in wool sweaters and scarves, drinking hot water for warmth. Nice try, City by the Bay, but you're not fooling me. You're just a tease, and as soon as I decide I like this sunny warmth, you'll shock me with a big misty rolling cloud of fog and send me scurrying back indoors.