Today, the temperature outside was one hundred and seventy-five degrees. Maybe they said one hundred seventeen, but that’s about the same thing. Potatoes… “Patatas”, Purgatory… Hell. Bottom line, it was too hot. I like to consider myself a nice person, but today I found that I’m not very nice when I’m hot.
I am very glad that we believe in air conditioning here in Texas. I heard on the news that only three houses out of a hundred in Britain have air conditioning. It was one hundred four degrees there. I’m pretty sure the Queen has air conditioning. I didn’t see her out there in the middle of the fountain, and crown or no crown, I would have headed right for that fountain. I saw someone squirting water in the mouth of one of the guards at Buckingham Palace. Sure, he’s a soldier. Sure, he gets paid. Sure, he’s loyal, but they would have found my big fur hat floating in the English Channel and a note that said, “Bonjour, Baby.” I don’t think the French wear fur hats in the summer.
There were many activities limited by the heat today. Primarily, it was too hot to prepare meals. That sounds great, but I’m not noted for planning ahead. I realized shortly after I had eaten my cereal this morning that I had no other “cool” food. Cool hot dogs are ok but would be much better with a little chili and cheese… on a cold day beside a campfire… followed by a Smore. Not today. Dry hot dog buns, eaten cool, lose their appeal, crumble in your hands, and stick to your sweaty thighs. Hot dogs weren’t a good choice. That’s good because I didn’t have any, and it was too hot to go to the store.
It was also too hot to do laundry. One or two days of wearing the same outfit is ok, but when your jeans stand alone and take on a salty outer sheen, laundry probably needs to be done. I had nothing clean to wear. Of course, it was fine to run the washer on a cold cycle and hang everything outside to dry, but where? My family took down out clothesline back in the late 1960s.
There wasn’t much traffic on our street this afternoon, so I decided to make do with hanging the wet laundry on the bushes… in the front yard. No one complained, but it didn’t look good. I didn’t think the postman would notice, but when he ran over the curb, I felt bad about washing all my clothes at once. With the heat hanging on, I could have waited until dark.
I tried reading… fell asleep. I tried sleeping… the dog kept trying to cuddle. She snorted and crawled away whimpering. I tried cleaning house. (I think I must have been having a stroke.) I got out my medical directive and my last will and testament to see what would happen to my body if I died. Cremation? I guess my heirs could save some money there.
When I went out to get my mail this afternoon, I realized that it was not hot in my house. The mailbox had welded shut, the sprinkler system had given up the ghost, and the windows were steamed over on the inside. It was cold in my house compared to the 117 outside.
God bless those without air conditioning. God bless those whose property has caught on fire. God bless Blue Bell.
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