Saturday, September 18, 2021
Today I am grateful it’s almost autumn. I can’t wait. We had one or two clear, cool days, where I could open windows, actually move around without sweating and sit outside. Then BAM, summer came back with a vengeance.
I hate it. There, I said it. Okay, if you hang around me, you know I say it every day. Maybe hourly I bitch about it being hot, but geeze, this summer it seems unrelenting. I just got back from Costco and had the windows open on the way there, even though it was already hot. I just like the breeze and when Himself is with me the wind drives his hearing aids more crazy than I do so I don’t open them. Much.
By the time I parked and walked into the building I was a sweat ball. Not a hair ball, a sweat ball, although I think I probably looked more like a hair ball. The AC inside was moderate and I was in there a long time, spending way too much of it in the ice box that holds the fresh veggies. Oh bliss.
People were walking into the tundra area wearing spaghetti strapped tops, complaining and shivering. Not me. I was hugging the bags of broccoli, in the far corner and leaning into the AC vent like a beagle out the window of an old Buick. I would have homesteaded there, but there was too much cart traffic as people whisked in and out before ice formed on their eyelashes. Mine were just about feeling normal. Blink-blink.
Stepping into Costco proper now felt hot. Loading my crap on the belt felt hot. And why did I only need things that weighed a ton when today I soloed? I saw my friend, Zulul at the exit. He was a parent in the school I worked at and he always asks after me and my family and I do the same. Then I headed back out to the oven we call Pennsylvania. It felt like Jakarta, Indonesia. Again.
I loaded enough supplies for Armageddon into the back of my car, put my cart away (aren’t I a great person?) and got into the oven-on-wheels to drive home. With the air on full and blasting me in the face.
Still, even with the air on, by the time I got home my shirt was pasted to me like saran wrap. “Total Woman”, my ass! Anyone else remember that book from our youth? “Greet your husband at the door covered in saran wrap.” Only. How about he greets me by turning the garden hose on me fully clothed in the driveway before I literally sweat to death?
By the time I got unloaded, the sweat was running in my eyes and when I turned fast to pick up the damned onions, which had a mind of their own it was shooting off of my hair. Good thing I was home and not robbing a bank, because I was leaving my DNA everywhere.
I literally stuck my head under the kitchen faucet, ran water on my wrists, tried to climb into the freezer, hugged the pillow sized hamburger and put the frozen pot stickers on the back of my neck. I’m to sexy for my groceries.
Good thing no one was here because I ripped that shirt and bra off, without any music and without the grace or form of Gypsy Rose Lee, doing a bra-toss through the pass-through to the chairs in the dining room. Score! Let them dry there. I seriously don’t give a shit.
Even typing this I’m sweating like a felon on death row. I turned our AC down so that when Himself comes home from golf he’ll complain about living in a meat locker. Put on a parka. Mama’s overheated!
He’ll probably find me in the recliner, my hands frozen to both remote controls. Netflix will be looping some mindless show and I’ll be speaking in tongues about how I hate the hot, humid weather and can’t wait until autumn!