Like clockwork you can hear the complaints start. “Can you believe how hot it is?” “I can’t believe it’s this hot already!” “Oh, how I wish it was fall!”

Those are June (and July and August) complaints. In January you’ll hear: “Oh, this cold is unbelievable!” “That wind will just cut you in half!” “Why does it get dark so early?” “Oh, I wish it was June!”

The truth of the matter is we all want it to be 75 degrees, no humidity, the sun shining and just a hint of a cool breeze blowing across our faces. Nobody wants it to be 23 degrees in January or 97 and sticky in July.

But we are divided into two camps. Hot weather people and cold weather people. I’m a hot weather camper. I sweat as much as anyone else and there have been times I felt pretty sure I was close to suffering heat stroke. But I’ll take a hot summer day over a cold winter one any time.

People who like cold weather can be pretty vehement in their beliefs. I’ve never hidden the fact I prefer hot weather and I’ve been confronted about it a couple of times. The following is a conversation I had with a cold weather fan one time as we were waiting for a government meeting to start:

Cold weather fan: You that guy that writes columns about liking hot weather?

Me: I guess. I’ve written a couple, but I’m not the only one.

Cold weather fan: I hate hot weather.

Me: Is that right?

Cold weather fan: Yeah, you get all sweaty and uncomfortable and you just don’t want to do anything.

Me: Well, I don’t like brutally hot weather-

Cold weather fan: I mean, I can put on more clothes, but there’s only so many I can take off.

Me: Uh-huh. (Trying to reason my way out of the conversation) Well, I wouldn’t mind the cold if it didn’t get dark so danged early.

Cold weather fan: I like it getting dark early. I think it’s stupid to be daylight at 8:30 at night.

Me: Yeah. Oh, Mayor! I was wondering if I could ask you about. . .

There is a litmus test I have for determining whether hot weather or cold weather is more painful. It’s the pumping gas test.

Now, I know pumping gas is painful in any weather. But here’s how I gauge which weather is worse. I’m at the pump in January. It’s cloudy, the wind is blowing and the forecast high for the day (which has still not been reached by 1:30 p.m.) is a balmy 27. As I pump the gas, getting 6.5 gallons for $20, the wind feels like it’s cutting me in half. I bunch my jacket up and dread the moment I have to pull the gas handle out of the car, nearly freezing my fingers to it.

My breath is billowing out in front of me in a giant fog. The dull, gray sky looks exactly the same as it did when it finally turned daylight at 8:15 that morning. All I have to look forward to is darkness in 3 1/2 hours, a meeting that doesn’t start until 7 (and will probably last until 9) and going straight to bed when I walk in the door because it’s already been dark for five hours!

Flip everything around. It’s mid-June. The temperature is an unexpectedly hot 92. The overhanging on the gas pump provides a small amount of shade and a breeze dries the sweat on my forehead. I lean against the car as the gas pumps in 5.2 gallons for $20 (prices have gone up). I’m distracted for a moment as a sweet, young thing walks across the parking lot in blue jean shorts, then I turn back to the pump.

It’s still a good eight hours to dark. It’s been daylight since before 6 a.m. There’s no meeting scheduled for that night. There’s a pool in my front yard with 86 degree water in it and by 6:30 I should be enjoying it, watching traffic go by on the road below, wondering what I did to finally deserve something good. And when I decide to get out, there’ll still be enough daylight left to sit on the porch and read.

What’s that? You don’t have a pool, you never pay attention to the weather when you pump gas and I’m just a dirty old man?

You might be right. Excuse me, I have to go talk to the mayor.

By the way it’s Friday the 13th. Watch out for black cats, ladders and anybody throwing a hot weather curse your way.

michael.thomason@advocate anddemocrat.com | 442-4575.