F-ing hot

Want to know hot?

I can tell you all about hot. It's not the dry heat - not that that's not hot, but really, it just cannot compare with 92 degrees, at 11:13am, with 92% humidity. Sweltering leaps to mind as a descriptor, yet, I'm not sure that even does this justice…I feel as though we're attempting to walk amid clam chowder - it's hot, thick, wet, and smells funny.

We've been up to the driving range, (no shade, lest you think we're standing in palpably cooler conditions whilst he whacks little white balls hither and yon) watched a bunch or really old men tee off, so he'd get some lessons on better form - we so know he won't get them from me. My golf….sucks. However. I dressed him appropriately, myself as well, so we at least looked the part of the Avid Golfers, Braving the Heat and Humidity, For The Sport.

I myself, added interest to the golfing outfit, by carrying the black Kate Spade bag onto the green.

Yes. I know. It's. Just. Not. Done.

I got over it. I assume they will too. When they gave me funny looks, I started name dropping, and was welcomed with open arms, as well as plied with questions about “those thar black dogs” I've got lolligagging around on my lawn. I resisted the urge (just barely) to say something along the lines of those were tame, highly specialized black deer (which, there really are, should you be wondering at my sincerity) but that might just invite curious naysayers, lookseers, and whatnot onto the yard, and I'm not that accomodating.

We're going swimming. In Jack's pool. That is, as soon as the burial that's occuring up in the cememtary is finished. Somehow, I think it's totally disrepectful of us to trollup through the underbrush, into the pool, in tiny little suits while the dead are being laid to their eternal reward.

Or, at least to the living, garbed in strict, straight black, who're roasting no doubt, as the temp reaches a scorching 100+ today.