I have sunshades for my car. You know, the kind that is rectangular, has a reflective silver side, and a cheesy Hawaiian flower side? They really do work. You put them up in your windshield before you leave your car parked in a 3000 degree Kelvin asphalt parking lot, and they keep your auto at a cool and breezy 2000 degree Kelvin.
I don’t use mine as often as I should. And it isn’t because I enjoy having the epidermis of the back of my thighs seared to my leather seats. It isn’t because I enjoy the scent of cooked flesh instead of my mango/tango car scent. It’s because, even though I do actually understand the definition of Kelvin, I don’t seem to be able to grasp the concept of how in tarnation you refold a Sunshade.
I just can’t wrap my brain around it.
And it’s embarrassing, I tell you!
Have you ever ineffectively wrestled with something unwieldy like that in the compact front seat of an auto while children snicker in the seat behind you? Have you ever gone to whack those kids upside the head with that sunshade as recompense, only to inadvertently smack yourself with it, sending your kids into a fresh peal of laughter?
Well, I’m not saying I HAVE, but if theoretically speaking, I HAD, it would be an injustice, I tell you.
What’s my point?
I’ll be wearing long pants the rest of the summer, thank you.