to pass out. Okay, I admit, when it comes to anything involving heat or being athletic... well, I'm a wimp. You put those two together? Forget it, I'm useless. I went to the driving range last week with Dad and Eric. I was so hot... and that's not a reference to my swing. For anyone who doesn't agree, well there IS a difference between DFW hot and gulf coast hot. It wore me out. A bucket-and-a-half* of balls later we got in our cars to leave. The temperature read 105 degrees. Let me rephrase that. One hundred five degrees. Do you know what that makes the "feels like" temperature? Well I don't, but I know it's hot. (Trust me, I was there.) No wonder my body was freaking out on me, it was trying to tell me I was out of my mind. Don't get me wrong, I had fun... but it sure was a hot day.*I changed basket to bucket since Mom pointed it out. Even though the bucket is a wire basket, I'll call it a bucket.
