No, it's not an adaptation of the Ray Bradbury classic, it's just the temperature the credit union thermometer registered when I drove by at 4:00 today. It's too hot. Everything is feeling it. The boys haven't been outside in ages, my carpet looks like it's made of mohair from the dogs' need to shed every dispensable hair on their body, even the praying mantis that had taken up residence in my begonias for the past month has given up on this God forsaken land and headed for (literally) greener pastures. Or he just dropped dead from the heat. And my plants...my poor plants. At this point, I'm just watering stems with the hope that when the highs drop back to 95 degrees, they might still have the strength to recover. I finally put the poor marigolds around my mailbox out of their misery and just yanked them out of the rock-hard dirt.
So that's it. We sit in the house and wait for the moment when we all spontaneously go up in flames. Or I go to work, where for some insane reason, the thermostat is set at 60 degrees and I spend the day slowly turning blue, only to come outside at 4 p.m. and microwave myself. I'm surprised that I haven't gotten the mother of all colds by now.
You want pictures? Wilson sends his love from the coolest place in the house, the tile floor in the kitchen...
So that's it. We sit in the house and wait for the moment when we all spontaneously go up in flames. Or I go to work, where for some insane reason, the thermostat is set at 60 degrees and I spend the day slowly turning blue, only to come outside at 4 p.m. and microwave myself. I'm surprised that I haven't gotten the mother of all colds by now.
You want pictures? Wilson sends his love from the coolest place in the house, the tile floor in the kitchen...
