Well, I made it until yesterday.
I try not to whine about the heat… try and try… for as long as I can.
Yesterday, standing over the stove feeling stickier than the muffin batter, greasier than the oil heating in the frying pan, and hotter than the pre-heating oven, I had an involuntary longing for my long-sleeved flannel shirts. It doesn’t help that my mother-in-law, through whose faithful yardsaling I am periodically supplied with a new wardrobe, has recently sent me some seriously snuggly new plaids.
Now, like an alcoholic in a dry county, I am pining pathetically for what I cannot have:
- a chilly bite in the air that clears my mental vision (I often feel I cannot think in the hellish haze of summer’s heat)
- the welcome early darkness that justifies my homebody tendencies
- the opportunity to snuggle with a family member without an accompanying shout of, “Bleh! Get off me! It’s too hot already!”
- the ability to ride around in our no-A/C car without being able to hear the important bits in my cranium sizzle (“This is your brain in an old sunbaked Ford Escort!”)
- a craving for stew and biscuits, hot cocoa and all those other cold weather treats
- and most of all, the chance to put on those soft comfy flannels and denims that right now are kryptonite.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to get out there this morning and do the yardwork before the grass melts.