Inktober/Blogtober crossover: Day 19

I've come to the realisation that I am not good at coping with extreme weather.  I'm currently very aware that it's going to start getting much colder soon and that along with the change in temperature, I'm liable to end up with a worsening of my asthma.  It's a thought that doesn't exactly thrill me.

Don't get me wrong, I love the snow; it's beautiful and fun and yes, I revert back to the age of around three when it comes, seeing as we don't see all that much of it in this part of the UK.  But the cold, damp air that winter often brings is a nightmare for someone whose lungs aren't exactly firing on all cylinders at the best of times.

Annoyingly, the opposite weather also seems to disagree with me a tad.  Today's Inktober prompt word is "scorched" and it immediately made me think...  SKORCHIO!!

I like the sun.  I like hot weather.  It's just... my body kind of doesn't.

Yes, I'm a quarter Greek-Cypriot,  so I realise that most people would automatically assume that SKORCHIO is the weather of my people and I'm happiest when soaking up some rays, but they forget that the other three quarters of me are "very pale Brit."

I don't tan, for a start.  I either have to slather on so much sun cream that I merely go from "white" to "slightly darker white," or I burn and end up looking like Sebastian The Crab.  Kind people tell me I have "olive skin."  The truth is, it's more olive oil than olive in colour.

So, I don't have Mediterranean skin.  But my Greek roots have given me one very distinct characteristic, which is my insanely curly hair.  The trouble is, very hot weather and very tight curls are not a good combo.  Not even a little bit.  If I wear a hat (which I have to, because I'm prone to sunstroke), I get the kind of frizz on the top of my head that is usually only seen when someone rubs a balloon on your scalp for a laugh.  If I don't wear a hat, my hair just gives up the ghost entirely and turns into some kind of humidity-addled bush.  Don't even get me started on my teensy little side-fringe, either.  It's barely there at the best of times, but on a hot day, no amount of straightening and hair-spraying will prevent it from curling up into nothingness.

Now, I mentioned that my ludicrous lungs dislike cold, damp air, but here's the fun bit: THEY HATE REALLY HOT AIR, TOO!

Yep, my asthma is all about equal opportunities for wheezing.  I can be perfectly blissed out, sitting on a beach, enjoying the warmth of the sun, when my lungs just go: "NOPE."

Then there are all the other, deeply attractive ways that very hot weather plays havoc with you.  I'm talking about sweating so much that your eye make up ends up somewhere around your chin.  I'm talking about having to put talcum powder on your inner thighs.  Oh yes, in very hot weather, I really am quite the catch.

So, maybe it's for the best that I live in Britain, a country not exactly famed for its blazing hot sun, or its Arctic winters.  Just give me some sunshine, enough warmth to only need a light jacket and enough long dresses to only need to shave my legs every other day and I'm happy.

But you'd better give me some Ventolin as well.  Just in case...