hot hot hot

It's hot.

Really hot.

Off the charts, don't give me a number (I don't need one) simply tell me on the weather report that it's FUCKING HOT, don't bother to get dressed, go outside, or anything, other than crawl into my fridge and stay there.

Especially if I'm going to lose power (thus, my much coveted, dearly beloved central air - it's good to be spoiled) in the middle of the night, only to wake to drenched sheets.

They didn't get drenched the fun way either.

I'd have thought that the stupid bag of freaking fur who blows heat like furnace would be too hot herself to snug up next to me.

Yeah, I wasn't that lucky.

Add in my Man In Training (ie, gives off heat like a bear) and I'm pretty sure I could serve my liver with onions. I've taken to eating (smashing in my case) popsicles up for breakfast, forcing seltzer, soda, juice, water and iced tea on everyone I've passed - including the old bat I really don't care for.

I was SHOCKED to discover our neighborhood lush? Wore jeans, long sleeves and those ridiculous high heeled black boots to the liquor store and back. I'd've offered her a ride, but I was going the other way. Plus I've heard it's not nice to startle the totally loaded with kindness. They tend not to know what to do with it.

Either way?

I'm spending the remainder of my day/evening anything cold straight from the fridge/freezer, lying around so as to not exert any effort whatsoever - in fact, it's so damn hot out?

I'm really going to go all out.

I don't care if the dog pees in the house.

Shoot, I'll encourage it.