July is the month where it actually slows down for at least a second here.
August and September are filled with White Linen Night; back to school events; and the stressful period known as Holding Our Breath, Crossing Our Fingers, and Lighting Nash Roberts Prayer Candles During Hurricane Season. October is homecomings and Halloween. November is Thanksgiving. December and January are Réveillon dinners and parties and holiday celebrations and King’s Day and King Cake and my husband and my wedding anniversary. February is more King Cake and Valentine’s Day and sometimes Mardi Gras. March is sometimes Mardi Gras and sometimes spring break and sometimes Easter. April is sometimes Easter, French Quarter Fest, and Jazz Fest. May is more Jazz Fest, Greek Fest, school fairs, Mother’s Day, Memorial Day, and graduations. June is the Pride parade and Father’s Day and Creole Tomato Fest and Juneteenth in Congo Square. July starts off big with the fireworks over the Mississippi River and Essence Fest and it closes strong, too, with Tales of the Cocktail … but still, it feels like the first month we have had in a long time where we have actually had a moment to breathe.
Which is sort of funny because it’s also the month when the air is too thick to breathe and the heat outside feels like an actual act of violence. I think we as a city have collectively given ourselves the middle of July off because it is just too damn hot to function normally (or whatever passes as “normal” in New Orleans anyway).
July never stops being hot. Whether you wake up at 5 a.m. or noon, whether you get off work at 4 p.m. or 3 a.m., there is no part of the day when you are not sweaty as soon as you step foot outside, and sometimes even when you’re ostensibly in a cool, air-conditioned space.
July is the time when it doesn’t matter where you’re going or what time of day it is – you’re probably going to want to pack a change of clothes (or, not to be too indelicate, but … at least a change of underwear). July is the time when your morning commute is maybe kind of OK but your afternoon commute, when you climb into a car that has been baking all day, makes you wonder if it’s possible to get heat stroke even with the AC on full blast. I keep extra deodorant in my desk drawer just for the month of July, and it still doesn’t feel like enough sometimes. I can only wear sandals in July. Putting socks on my feet and then putting my feet into closed-toed shoes is simply not a viable option for me. If it were socially acceptable, I would wear a swimsuit and flip-flops to work. (I am jealous of my younger daughter, Georgia, who gets to go to camp in exactly that, with a T-shirt thrown over and a pair of shorts packed in her bag just in case they have to briefly emerge from the water.) In July, I apply sunscreen liberally to both myself and Georgia every morning but it feels like the sun is laughing at us as soon as we step off the porch. The sunscreen mixes with sweat and pours into our eyes before it even hits 8:30 a.m.
July is the only month in which it’s acceptable to eat a sno-ball for dinner. The official meal of July, though, if you’re feeling fancy, is actually a Creole tomato sandwich, with Blue Plate mayonnaise, eaten over the sink while wearing a tank top and pajama bottoms, followed by a gin and tonic, a handful of blueberries (fresh-picked if possible), and some watermelon.
Despite all of this, or actually probably because of it, July might just be my favorite month.
Introverts in the North love winter; introverts in the South love summer. You can find me inside all month long, watching Netflix in my underwear, eating fresh produce, and drinking as many G&Ts as I can handle.
Stay cool, everyone – and I’ll see you at White Linen Night, if I decide to emerge from my reverse hibernation.
