Hot as balls, you might say.

A member of my office building's janitorial staff informed me today that we may experience a high of 95 degrees on Friday. This reminds me of a story ...

When I was in fourth grade (1993, if anyone is keeping count), my teacher sat my classmates and me down and talked to us about the human body and the crazy things that happen to it as one grows older. Convinced my testicles were descending then and there, I raced home after school and began what would emerge as the time-honored tradition of staring at myself in the mirror until not one more tear of self-hatred could be shed. Oh, how horrible it is to be me!

A few nights later, I found myself burning up in bed, sweating bullets into my nearly soaked sheets. I had no idea why I was so hot, until it dawned on me: This must be one of the side effects of puberty! I immediately rose from bed and ran down the hall to tell my family the exciting news.

"I'm going through the changes!" I cried to my parents, who surely were bursting with pride and amazement at having successfully reared a child into adolescence. Of course, my mother was the first to burst my bubble: "Toby, it's 100 degrees outside. That's why you're so sweaty."

Overcome by trauma and confusion, I sulked back to my room, unaware that those two feelings would play a significant role in all future interactions with my parents until the end of time.