And I don’t mean the kind of hot you want to sit across a dinner table from. Yeah, not that kind of hot. I’m just hot, with heat…from the sun.
That’s the week’s theme.
It was funny yesterday. It was a teensy bit amusing this afternoon when I was driving with my head out the window and watching the girls spritz themselves with mist fans. The Informinator was directly in front of me and driving slow just so I’d have to sweat for 3.5 more minutes. But when I got back home from my little stint at the local pool and found the house to be at 82 and climbing with the AC unit frozen over like the floor of the Icecapades and with Todd out of town, all the giggles stopped. Oh, and now my car window will not lower. Here’s a thought, 1988, why’d you have to take away windows that you roll down with one skitter of effort from my elbow? I know, let’s put a $200 motor in the window that will break when it’s 92 degrees outside. If I ever meet that guy…
And apparently I sent Mamasboy to school sick today. I did think he was awfully sluggish. But the house has been hot, so a hot forehead didn’t strike me as uncharacteristic for the circumstance. But at dinner tonight, with the AC guy roaming around fixing this and that (so thankful he was able to come last minute), I laid my already too-warm cheek against Mamasboy’s forehead. Sweet Mother of Olympia Dukakis, he was hot. 103.4. Welcome to your day off school, boy. You get the blankets. I’ll bring the Diet Mountain Dew. We’ll do lunch.
And hopefully I can keep the house below 80 to offset that raging fever.
I’m just kidding about the Diet Mountain Dew.