Dear Trish,
The family and I are in Arizona because of you, my long-time blog cast member. This is not my kind of place, and I can’t believe you willingly came to live here.
The pilot told us the temperature as we were landing: 102 degrees. That’s not hospitable for human life.
When we walked out of the Phoenix airport, a furnace blast nearly killed me on the spot. Remember that guy whose face melted in “Raiders of the Lost Ark?” Like that.
Stop with that “at least it is a dry heat” crap. It’s a hot heat. So hot. Hotter than Kid Rock’s “So Hott.” Satan’s sunroom hot. Like I crawled into a pizza oven hot.
We drove to Sedona in air-conditioned comfort — thank God — but the poor Chevy Cruze did struggle.
You know what we saw on the way? Dirt.
Dust.
Cacti.
Cacti giving us the finger.
Who lives here voluntarily? What the HECK, Trish!?
You are paler than I am. How can you stand it?
I’ve put my lily-white skin in peril for you. You know I wouldn’t miss your big day, even though you and Irv did decide to get married on the same date Eddie and I did. You date hog, you.
Well, at least we spent our anniversary doing something fun. Sedona turns out to be one lovely spot in this godforsaken land. Thanks for choosing it as the final destination.
And you clean up nice, so there’s that.
As much as I’m complaining here, you know we would not have missed your big day.
Love you, and congratulations!
Beth
Observe and report 
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