Hot.

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?


2 thoughts on “Hot.

  1. You can’t see me but I am laughing. Not because you have described a ridiculous image but because of how similar you sound to my grandmother (just trade the bb gun for a shot gun) — the one who refused to get air conditioning, a microwave, or replace her wringer washing machine. I’m sure she’s looking up from her final resting place and cheering you on. Wait…is that Elton John singing “Circle of Life” in the distance? I think so….

  2. Can I come join you? I’ll bring my own BB gun.

    Or, you can just come on over and sit on my porch. We were at 91 the last time I checked on the 9th and I was griping and bitching about it.

    We’ve cooled a bit here the last couple of days though. How’s yours coming along?

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