"To AC or Not to AC?": A Westlake Mom’s Guide to Surviving Summer Without Breaking a Sweat (Or a Nail)

Ah, the great Texas air conditioning debate—a topic so divisive it could spark a neighborhood feud fiercer than the annual HOA dispute over mailbox aesthetics. As the mercury climbs to a balmy "surface of the sun" setting, the privileged masses of Westlake are locked in a heated (pun intended) battle over whether to leave the AC running or turn it off while they jet off to their third vacation home in Aspen.

Let’s be real: if you’re even considering turning off your AC in this inferno, you’re either a masochist or someone who enjoys returning to a home that smells like a gym sock left in a sauna. Experts—bless their sensible, non-drama-loving hearts—say leaving it on (but at a slightly higher temperature) is the way to go. But where’s the fun in that? Why not subject your family to a humid, mold-infested hellscape just to save a few bucks? Think of the character-building opportunities! Little Brayden and Kayleigh will learn resilience as they peel their thighs off the leather sofa.

And let’s talk about the real tragedy here: the sheer audacity of nighttime temperatures refusing to cooperate with our delicate sensibilities. Opening windows at night? Please. That’s just an invitation for every mosquito in Travis County to host a rave in your living room. Plus, with global warming ensuring that even the moon is sweating, you’re better off embracing your role as a human popsicle in a sub-zero bedroom.

But the pièce de résistance? The suggestion to gently spray your outside AC unit with water. Ah yes, because nothing says "I’m a responsible adult" like standing in 105-degree heat, hose in hand, performing a reluctant baptism for your overworked condenser. Pro tip: If you really want to maximize efficiency, hire a landscaper to do it while you sip rosé in the shade. Priorities, people.

In conclusion, the only acceptable way to handle Texas summers is to crank the AC to "Arctic Blast," ignore your energy bill, and blame the grid when it inevitably collapses under the collective strain of our entitlement. Stay cool, stay petty, and for heaven’s sake—don’t let the neighbors see you with a manual hose. That’s what staff is for.