Where the hell is summer? Yes, I know the calendar still tells us it’s spring. Don’t go getting all technical on me.

I’ll make this easy. I like it hot and humid. The hotter the better.
Those muggy nights where the air feels like a wet towel sticking to your neck? I love them.

My idea of a great summer night is sitting in shorts and T-shirt on my porch, listening to the crickets and owls with the Phillies game on the radio.

So what do I get. Wet and cold. And for a change, cold and wet. I have yet to be able to stumble out onto my screened-in refuge and simply simmer the night away. I love it when all I can hear are the hum of air-conditioners, and the occasional knock on the door from my family tucked comfortably inside in their air-conditioned comfort to be sure I have not slipped into a coma. Not that you could actually tell.

We’re now in June. I’m feeling cheated on my porch time. It rained on and off most of the day yesterday. It is pouring out this morning.

I am told it’s supposed to clear tonight and actually be fairly nice for the weekend.

But I don’t see the magic numbers anywhere in the near future. That, of course, would be the 90-degree mark.

Bring it on. Where’s summer?