As I sit and watch the rain, I remind myself of all the reasons that I left Arizona.

You might live in Arizona if....

You no longer associate bridges with water.
You can say "115 degrees" without fainting.
You have made instant sun tea.
You have learned that a seat belt makes a good branding iron.

The temperature drops below 85, and you feel a bit chilled.
You have learned that, in July, it takes only 2 fingers to drive your car.
You have discovered you can get a sunburn through your car window.
You notice the best parking place is determined by shade, not distance.

It's noon in July, kids are on summer vacation, and not one person is on the streets.
Hot water comes out of both taps.
You do not own an umbrella and would not know where to go to get one.
You are comfortable at 102 degrees.

You actually burned your hand opening the car door.
No one you know would dream of putting vinyl upholstery in a car or not having air conditioning.
If the local weather service records 0.02 inches they call it rain.
You don't know anyone who owns a raincoat.

You have cooked a dozen eggs in the trunk of your car between the grocery store and your home.
Your biggest bicycle wreck fear is, "What if I get knocked out and end up lying on the pavement and cook to death?"
You realize that asphalt has a liquid state.
Half of your neighbors are from California and the other half are from Minnesota, Wisconsin or Michigan.

You think snow on the ground is an abstract concept.
You have forgotten how to drive on wet roads.
The local cows have been known to give powdered milk.
The trees are whistling for the dogs.

You can say, "but it's dry heat" without laughing.
The water in your pool has been too hot to swim in and you don't even have a heater.
You have cooked outside without lighting the grill.
Your power bill in the summer is more than your mortgage payment.

You have had to take out a loan to pay your water bill.
You have even golfed when it was 117 degrees.
The song "I'm dreaming of a White Christmas" has no real meaning.
You think it is autumn when the temperature drops to 99 degrees.

You've golfed in December in a short sleeved shirt.
You've tried to work on your car in the summertime and burned your hand picking up a wrench left laying in the sun.
You've never had an auto battery last more than three years.

Cliche of the Day

Unvarnished Truth. The plain facts; told like it is. Is truth an absolute? Philosphicallly it may be, but in the minds and words of many people it receives embellishment, so much so that truth in the absence of embellishment has come to be noted by this cliche. Matilda Betham-Edwards recorded a typical progression in Disarmed (1883): "Valerian...had set out with the intention of adhering to the unvarnished truth, but finally ended in romancing." Shakespeare had a somewhat different version in Othello, showing that the thought itself is quite old. Othello says to the Duke and others in the council chamber:

I will a round, unvarnish'd tale deliver
Of my whole course of love...