Ernie tries to cool off.
Ah yes, this sketch brings back a lot of "warm" memories, by which I mean memories of literally being too warm and trying desperately to cool off during the summertime. (Nowadays, of course, I have the opposite problem, which is that whenever I go into a public building in the summer, I'm instantly too cold because they always have the AC cranked up to subzero temperatures.)
I've always enjoyed listening to my mother's stories about her quaint and rustic childhood. My grandmother was a rural schoolteacher, and sometimes they lived in places where they didn't even have electricity or running water--even into the 1950s, believe it or not. I used to feel sad that, assuming I ever had kids, I wouldn't have any quaint and rustic stories of my own childhood to tell them. Then I realized recently that, if I ever do have kids, my childhood is going to seem quaint and rustic to them anyway: "You didn't have air conditioning? You only had one bathroom? You only had three TV channels? You only had one phone that was connected to the wall and couldn't do anything other than make phone calls?" ("Yes, and it was rotary." "What does that mean?")
Come to think of it, even by the standards of the time, my childhood was pretty quaint and rustic.