CONTENTS UNDER PRESSURE: SUMMERTIME, AND THE LIVIN' IS GREASY

I'm waiting for the Supreme Court to declare central air conditioning an inalienable right.

For the last few weeks, I've tried desperately to think of polar bears and icebergs and the North Atlantic, but apparently I'm not trying hard enough.

It's still hot. It's still humid. It's still summer, and it's still Southeast Missouri.

When I got the chance to return to Cape Girardeau, I remembered the rolling hills and big shade trees and beautiful old homes and, of course, the Mississippi.

I forgot about summer. I think it got fried right out of my synapses one hot August day.

But I'm back and summer's back, and this is not an action movie. Summer's going to win, and I'm going to find a nice air-conditioned spot in the shade.

There's something disheartening about spending 30 minutes arranging your hair and makeup and watching them both parboil to a greasy mess in 30 seconds.

And I really hate it when I get out of my air-conditioned car on a hot, humid day and my glasses fog up.

My friend Tina called the other day.

"My pantyhose have melted to my body," she said. "I don't think my health insurance covers this."

"No, but if you go back outside, you'll get heatstroke and have to go to the emergency room," I said. "That should be covered."

I mentioned the fried synapses, right?

My apartment has a nice sunny deck, but I don't go outside on nice sunny days after mid-June unless someone (like a newspaper editor) makes me.

I don't hate everything about summer. I like barbecue, but I have to wonder about people who wait until it's 100 degrees in the shade to stand over a smoky fire and watch large slabs of meat cook.

I love corn on the cob, which only tastes right in summer. The frozen stuff you can get in January just doesn't do it.

One of the things I love about corn on the cob is the way people get the butter on it. Some people use basting brushes and slather melted (molten?) butter on the corn. Some use those special dishes. Some just use a knife, which has always struck me as a tricky maneuver. Balancing the corn and wielding the butter knife takes a certain amount of dexterity.

We O'Farrells take the easy way out. We smear a slice of bread thickly with butter, then rub the buttered bread on the corn.

No mess, no fuss, no bloody fingers.

How come summer food all tends to be fried, greasy or sticky?

Because we're all fried, greasy or sticky. I guess it does make sense.

Come Thursday, we'll be celebrating Independence Day. That's a great part of summer, particularly if you're getting Friday off, too.

Long holiday weekends are an inalienable right. Central air conditioning should be, too, but I don't think the Supreme Court's ruled on that yet.

I like patriotic holidays. Lots of music, marching bands, flag-waving.

I don't like fireworks. Well, I like looking at the designs or displays, but I don't like hearing the explosions. Explosions make me nervous. I tend to spend Independence Day hiding under the bed, provided I can convince the cat to make room for me.

My hometown sponsors a big fireworks display every year. One year, a friend gave me some earplugs and dragged me along.

Actually, it was kind of nice.

Now if I could just convince them to air-condition the football field....

~Peggy O'Farrell is a staff writer for the Southeast Missourian.