My poor husband is across the country in Long Island, sleeping in a nice air conditioned hotel.
I am sitting at my computer, my dogs are panting on my legs, and it is like eighty five degrees in here. At 9:30. I have a headache from the heat, I'm just realizing how much I stink, and NO, WE DON'T HAVE AC. WE LIVE IN WASHINGTON. Like one trillionth of the population here has AC. We make fun of people who have AC.
Until we have a heat wave. Ugh.
Yesterday, we spent the day sitting in a kiddie pool and in a shaded camp site with friends. This was a good thing.
Today, we drove up to my hometown to pay a visit to my Grammy and bring her some groceries (and to also make sure she's okay in the heat). Then we mooched dinner off of my girlfriend Rachel (thanks for the enchiladas!) and luxuriated in their AC. We should have spent the night. Seriously.
But, the dogs from hell needed to be let outside (I know, demanding). So we're home. G is sleeping as unclothed as possible (diaper and sleep shorts, because I don't trust him not to take off his diaper). I'm contemplating a cold shower, or maybe I'll just go sit in the baby pool I just cleaned.
Did I mention I touched a slug while I was cleaning the pool? Gross. I don't recommend it, I'm still finding slime on my fingers even though I've nearly scrubbed them raw.
In conclusion, yes, I realize the mid-nineties may not be THAT hot some places, but here, well, it's like the end of the world. So, out to the pool I go, and I'm grabbing a beer on the way out. And some salt, because that slug is going down.