Mad Dogs and Englishmen

Make that Mad dogs, Englishmen, and my husband - going out in the mid-day sun. I don't know what part of "skin cancer" or "heat stroke" he doesn't understand, but something is definitely wrong with an intelligent man who has more than seven years of higher education, yet persists in mowing the lawn and doing yard work between 11 a.m. and 2 p.m., in the blazing heat of South Florida. He grew up here and ought to know better, but NO - every weekend it's the same thing: mowing, sweating, and cursing. All done without the benefit of breakfast, sunscreen or a hat. By the time he finishes, he's dehydrated, completely fatigued, ill-tempered and feeling very put-upon by those of us who have sense enough to stay in out of the noonday sun. The only explanation I have been able to come up with, after fifteen years of marriage, is that he fried some important part of his brain in his youth, either playing baseball or mowing lawns under the St. Petersburg sun. Since I have had absolutely no luck in changing his behavior, I changed mine. As soon as he gets out the mower, I leave the house, for an icily air-conditioned mall, theatre, or restaurant. If he has a heatstroke, he's on his own.