I am usually mocked for what I am about to say, but I trust you guys to be sweet about it.
San Francisco is very, very chilly in the summer, so much so that I have been known to call it “the coldest city in the world.”
I can sort of understand why this leads to guffaws and shakes of the head. For one thing, I grew up in Canada’s Nunavut Territory, in a town far above the treeline with snow that didn’t melt until mid-June. For another, San Francisco isn’t particularly gray, so the shining sun has definitely added a freckle or two to my grumpy face.
But for someone used to the annual “air conditioner insertion” ritual and desperate sips of cold lemonade, the June and July coldness comes as a shock. The most startling adjustment is to the wind, which can start up without notice, making skirt-wearing into a Marilyn Monroe moment.
I am trying to cope. Words of wisdom would be very much appreciated.