Everyone clichés about the weather, but no one does anything about it. Up until about three months ago, you were sure to hear, “Well, we sure can use the moisture,” every time it rained. I got sick of that one. Well, just like that, it’s back to, “Hot enough for ya?”

Hot enough for me? I’m a roofer, for God’s sake! Would you ask an asthmatic, “Hard enough to breathe for ya?” Would you ask a man in a North Korean labor camp, “Working hard, or hardly working?”

You’re darn tootin’ it’s hot enough for me. In fact, I’m again sick of summer and can’t wait for a repeat of that cold winter we just survived, when the boring people said, “Boy, it’s really coming down out there!” So what did they expect the snow to do — go up?!

All seriousness aside though, I am no fan of heat. My back is itching from sunburn aftermath and I’m rubbing up against every parking meter I pass. My pillowcase is sweat-drenched, and my dogs are panting merely from a short drive to the store for ice and sunscreen.

Oh sure, summer is fun in theory — lots of public events, parades and barbecues, tourist gals legging up the streets — but it’s all overrated in my book (which has never been a best-seller, by the way).

There’s a big ol’ RV dominating every two gas pumps I desperately need to get to before running out of gas while idling, and every time I try and pull out from a side street, there are slow-driving gawkers from states I’d never even heard of before, like Delaware and Georgia, smirking at me while thinking things like, “You’re gonna be there a while, Stress Boy. Have a Snickers.”

Oh, how I long for the cold, crisp mornings people tell me about when I get up at noon. How I reminisce about rushing off the roof by 5 p.m. as darkness sets in just before kickoff of the Thursday night NFL game. How I miss seeing columns of smoke wafting from every chimney and hearing boring people say, “Nice weather if you’re a penguin, huh?”

But, I guess I don’t have long to wait for my glorious time of year, although until then, every minute on the roof is gonna feel like an hour, every hour like a day, and every day like…well, you get the agonizing picture. Nice weather if you’re a dang desert rattler!

I suspect I’m in the minority fondly remembering autumn and winter months, but I’m surely not alone, since it’s human nature to want what we can’t have. Since my cholesterol has zoomed past 300, I’m craving Dairy Queen chili cheese dogs and banana milk shakes like there’s no tomorrow. And tomorrow I’ll crave something else some doctor says I must avoid. But if told to stay away from hard work and hot sun, I just don’t see me becoming too forlorn.

I guess one’s priorities change too as one grays around the snout. I can remember a time pedaling a bike to the gym to lift weights for two hours every night after shingling for eight in the brutal heat. I packed fruit and protein shakes in my cooler, saw the tanning sun as accentuation for my mighty pecs, and every bundle of shingles carried up the ladder as just one more deltoid builder. Darkened windows while going up that ladder? They simply gave me pause to stop and admire my reflection.

Heck, on my days off, I was slathering the tanning oil on my front side for the sun to reach those shingling-position, hidden areas and sunbathing in the back yard. But like the Beatles sang, “But now those days are gone, I’m not so self-assured; now I find I’ve changed my mind, I’ve covered up my pores…”

Yes, Good-time Charlie’s got the blues. I hope you enjoy your hot summer, but as for me and the majestic grizz, we needs to hibernate. Oh, how I long for the upcoming days when I can say, “Are you as sick of this cold, windy winter as I am? It’s never-ending!”