My seatbelt just gave me third degree burns on my thenar web space. I didn't know what the name of the area between my thumb and index finger was, so I had to look it up. And as I'm rubbing overpriced, convenience store aloe vera gel on my thenar web space, I didn't appreciate your remarks about the heat at least being 'dry'. That felt personal. Like my feelings were invalidated. It's like saying "at least Hitler wore deodorant." I don't even know if that makes sense, but you get my point.
I've lived in southern states before and have endured high humidity combined with above 100 degree fahrenheit temperatures. It's not fun feeling like you're trapped in your own sweat goo akin to how Keanu Reeve's felt in the Matrix when he woke up from his robot goo womb. Stepping outside into a 'dry heat' while it feels like every salon owner in Arizona has their collective hair dryers set on 11 blowing directly into your eye sockets is not fun either.
When you say "at least it's a dry heat," there will be neither laughter nor forced guffaws. There will be no response. I will stare at you with the force of a thousand Karens until you feel awkward and try to change subjects. Then I will stare some more until our thinly veiled friendship evaporates alongside everyone's boob sweat. Ta-ta!
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