It is hot. Record-setting hot. Ninety-three, for those of you who like specifics, or who suspect I might be exaggerating. It is the kind of hot that makes me impatient and irritable. I often find that I’ve been squinting, borderline scowling, for long periods of time, and that my jaws are sore from subconscious clinching. If this heat and drought continue I will no doubt become a prematurely grumpy old woman and sit on my porch in nothing but a bra and a pair of men’s trousers and shoot at things in my yard with a BB gun.
Oh October, where art thou?