For Floridians, Labor Day arrives with a familiar ritual: we stand outside, look at the thermometer, and wonder how much longer we have to endure summer before we can once again experience temperatures that don’t feel like we’re being punished. We wait impatiently for cooler weather, much as duplicate bridge players wait for that elusive perfect hand—knowing full well it may never arrive. Until then, we do what Floridians and bridge players do best: gather with friends, complain about the conditions, eat something, and insist that this time things will be different. Of course, at the bridge table, “cooler weather” and “a perfect hand” are both promises that should probably come with a disclaimer.