Perfecting the Parasol at 105 in the shade

I brought my umbrella to work this morning. There is no chance of rain because three news channels this morning (the Armenians, the Russians and the CNNs) assured sunny skies and could-fry-an-egg-on-it noontime heat. I hear there are websites were I can type in 39°C and find out what I already know: that because Yerevan is in the valley, surrounded by peaks on all sides, the heat smacks down on us like warm towels straight from the dryer, producing heat that produces heat that leaves me eyeing my umbrella longingly.

I brought it to the beach (do I dare not qualify? the beach= Lake Sevan, Armenia’s waterfront paradise of sorts) yesterday, too. I tell people that I’m bringing it along to ward off the rain. If I don’t bring it, it will rain. If I leave it home, along comes a downpour. This is sounder logic than it should be. But I lie; I’m not tempting the rain gods. I’m simply waiting from the right moment. I could eat ice cream every day until the cows come home but true hayastansi status cannot be realized until I open up my umbrella. The parasol: ultimate expression of summer assimilation. I watch young and old women walking down the street, parasols poised and elegant on their shoulders. To be one of them would be like joining the ranks of the ladies who lunch, those gloriously lock-jawed, blue-haired denizens of tact, style and femininity (a l’Armenienne, of course). The temperature is rising; my thumb worries the umbrella’s button and I wish I were walking 105° in the shade.

Wishing Happy Independence from the ATDA office,

Samantha