In one of the lamentably-lesser-known stories of Norse mythology, Willis Carrier, a.k.a. Frosty Prometheus (praise his name), seduced the goddess Skaði 111 years ago on this very date. She awoke from post-coital drowsiness to see him attempting to tiptoe out her door. Enraged at his caddishness, she cursed and bellowed at his departing form, her anger taking the form of a howling winter gale. Using a bottomless magic pouch that Loki had lost to him in a card game, he captured her frigid breath before it could freeze him solid, tied off the pouch, and scurried back home to safety. After patenting the mechanism for the safe storage and release of Skaði's breath, he deigned to parcel out a certain amount of it every summer for public consumption, thus allowing his fellow humans to live comfortably on days like today and tomorrow, when the heat index hovers around a hundred and ten goddamned degrees, I mean for fuck's sake already. So yes, fall to your knees and give thanks that such a hero ever existed.
(Seriously, that's one of the best myths of all time. I'm surprised Ovid hasn't covered it yet.)