Soooo very hot...

It's too darn hot
It's too darn hot
I'd like to sup with my baby tonight
Refill the cup with my baby tonight
I'd like to sup with my baby tonight
Refill the cup with my baby tonight
But I ain't up to my baby tonight
Cause it's too darn hot

-- Cole Porter


The heat finally breaks last evening. Instead of stale, yet cool air conditioning in our bedroom, we sleep with the window fan running.

It's heavenly. Feels totally delicious to have cool, fresh air in the bedroom.

I don't do well in the heat. Actually, that's something of an understatement.

I completely wilt in the heat of the summer - to the point where I feel like I'm going to pass out.

Any temperature above 75 degrees is something of a misery for me unless I sit very still in front of a fan or condemn myself to extended periods of hibernation in our air conditioned bedroom.

This past weekend Chris and I work on finishing our finished basement. The final stages of turning flood damaged rooms back into usable, livable space. Moving furniture around, emptying boxes, organizing my studio, hanging art work and painting a few pieces of furniture to match our office/entertainment area's new color palette (blue, tan, & black...)

After about 15-20 minutes of spray painting a bookcase in the 90 degree heat/sun on a tarp in the middle of our backyard, I am sweating profusely. I feel dizzy. And sick. And there's a good chance that I might just vomit onto our bookcase.

Not good.

"You want me to do that?" Chris asks, looking surprisingly cool (of course, he's smart enough to be wearing a hat...something that doesn't occur to me to do before heading out into the sun.) He looks at me a bit more closely. "You really don't look so good, Sweetie."

Thanks, Honey. Just what every wife wants to hear from her husband.

Of course, it's totally true.

Back in the house as I am cooling off by splashing some cool water on my face I note the extreme flush on the apples of my cheeks and the fact that all of the color has drained completely from every other part of my face.

Yes, very attractive indeed.

Chris very kindly finishes painting the bookcase in the broiling sun.

Best husband EVER.

"Looks like it's breaking a bit this week," Chris tells me this morning, "It's only going to hit 82 today. Then it looks like 86 tomorrow and then back down to 82."

"Lovely," I say, my voice saturated with sarcasm.

"Hey, at least it's not going to be in the 90s."

True. Very true.

But it's still going to be in the 80s, which just sucks.

Grumble, grumble.

The thing is that I absolutely haaaaate it when people grumble and complain about winter - about how cold and miserable it is. Personally, I love winter. Bundle me up in a jeans, a turtleneck and a sweater and I am a happy, happy girl.

A nice crisp, cold, sunny day when it's 20 degrees outside. Heaven!

So when people complain about winter I'm all like, "Hey, Doofus! Winter comes around every year! Quit bitching about it. It's not like it's a surprise, y'know..."

But then summer comes around and, as much as I hate to admit it, I'm just like those people who complain about winter!

Only louder.

And grumpier.

Hey, Doofus! Summer comes around every year! Quit bitching about it. It's not like it's a surprise, y'know...

Yeah, whatever.