Welcome to summer.
The time of year when you notice your boobs are dropping like a baby boy's testicles should.
What my life can may end up looking like soon. Only with less sand and more chest hair.
We're in a bit of a heat wave up here at the moment, and yes, for people who assume I live next door to polar bears, Santa Clause and Sarah Palin, this does in fact mean my igloo is melting.
It's a sad sight to be honest. I was not made for these temperatures. I'm actively wishing for -40 degree temperatures and snow because at least then when it burns from the cold I can escape by sitting in front of my wood burning stove.
Right now, I'm about as naked as three strips of cotton, some string and my teenaged son's sense of "Oh my God Mom, if I have to see you naked for one more second I'm never going to be able to have sex with a woman and I REALLY WANT TO HAVE SEX WITH GIRLS so please don't make me have to pluck out my eyes and live like a monk for the rest of my life!" modesty will allow. And I'm still sweltering.
I would prefer to be naked.
But I also want grandchildren and so I'm wearing an uncomfortably tight red bikini that totally doesn't hold in my stomach rolls or hide my cellulite. It does however emphasize the fact I need to shave my legs and do a push up or two before the wind catches the wings I'm growing under my arms and send me off on an unplanned flight.
Welcome to the untold ugliness that is global warming.
Last night my children slept outside under the stars to escape the 85-degree boiler our house had become. Since I didn't want the Jumbster to be bug bait all night long, the two of us sweltered in our
His bed is right beside a window.
My bed is not. So I spent the night tossing and turning and swearing to the baby Jesus whenever the dogs would breathe on me or the covers would touch my skin.
It was a restful night.
So when my husband called early this morning to ask how I slept, I may have whined. Or snarled. It was hard to tell. I was busy wiping beads of sweat from my brow already. At 8 a.m.
And when Boo commiserated that he didn't have a great sleep either because the power went out so his air-conditioner shut off for like TWO WHOLE HOURS, elevating the temperature in his bedroom to a FURNACE LIKE 70 DEGREES, well, I may have rolled my eyes so hard they are now threatening to fall out of my eye sockets permanently.
(Let that be a lesson to all ye eye rollers. Do it too often and yes, your eyes may fall out of your head. It's written on the internets so it must be true. Got that Fric?)
In the interests of fairness and not wanting to be served with divorce papers I should point out that for the last five years my husband has tried to install air conditioning in our home. And for the last five years I've mocked him and used my veto power to kill his cool dreams dead. Because it only gets hot enough to warrant using an air conditioner for a few days a year up here. And what kind of wussy would I be if I couldn't survive a few days of heat?
Shut up Boo. I know you told me so.
So ya. I don't do heat well. I really don't understand how people survive in places that are hot all the time. Like Phoenix. Or Florida. Or hell.
Heat makes me cranky.
It turns me into that crabby old man who yells at kids to get off his lawn while shaking his cane at them.
Okay, so not a stick but an axe. Still. SUMS UP MY FEELINGS.
Only I'm readjusting my bikini strings so tight I'm cutting off circulation to my brain all in an effort to make sure air circulates under my boobs while screeching at children, animals and insects alike not to breathe on me because I may melt.
Now excuse me. I need to go wipe the sweat from places sweat should never be.
Namely my arse crack and under my boobs.
God bless all you people who live with heat worse than this all year long.