I had that as my status message earlier today, and it is so true. I thought I was going to melt, that’s how hot it was.
Now before you folks in the desert southwest and you folks in much muggier climes south of here insist that it doesn’t get that hot here, let me assure you that you are correct. It wasn’t that hot. But you try managing without air conditioning. My in-laws in Tucson have a swamp cooler, which worked like a champ when I visited in August one year and the daytime highs were above 110º. I wasn’t sweating at all inside, and that is key. When we lived in Virginia, with temps topping 95º with a correspondingly high humidity, we had air conditioning. Granted we didn’t run it down as cool as my neighbors, who insisted on keeping their apartment at 65º, but it was still cool enough.
I spent most of the afternoon at my friend’s house, meeting a new-to-me friend (though she’s been living a block away from me for the entire two years we’ve lived here — go figure) and enjoying delicious Philly cheesesteaks. There were eight children in the house, ranging in age from nine months to twelve years, as well as five adults and one large dog. My friend’s little a/c unit just couldn’t keep up with all the bodies, and her house was really, really warm.
But she had borrowed this inflatable pool that we had bought last year and never set up, and that was a brilliantly inspired idea on her part. It meant Grace and Mary Ellen could play and splash and enjoy themselves, instead of being obnoxious because they were bored. I swear, I gave birth to a couple of fishes. Give either of them water to play in, and they are entertained for hours. ME absolutely loves bathtime and cannot resist trying to soak me by kicking and splashing. The plan was to have the other woman’s baby, a nine-month-old boy that my friend has decided will grow up to marry my ME, and ME in the pool — but the baby boy was not having any of the pool. No sirree. He squawked and squalled and demanded to be released from that medieval instrument of torture, so his mother lifted him out and proceeded to apply the cuddles, which mollified him to some degree.
I must have gotten too much sun today. I was sweating so much at my friend’s, sitting in the direct afternoon sun, the kind of sun that’s awesome for ripening tomatoes, but not so good for fair-skinned redheads (even if I’m not naturally a redhead). And I know I didn’t drink enough water, though I did drink an entire bottle at my friend’s. It didn’t help that we went straight to swim lessons — and the base pool isn’t air conditioned. I ended up sitting in the car before we left, blasting the a/c and basking in the frigidity pumping out of the vents. By the time Kurt got home from work, I felt like goo melted into my couch cushions. I couldn’t even think about dinner, so he took pity on me and treated me to Mexican.
What a nice husband.
And now my oven’s broke. It stopped working when my friends were here for the weekend, but we thought it was rather a fluke so didn’t worry much about it. Today I got the oven going to bake some bread for our luncheon, then tried to restart it for some cookies to take as well. The damn thing wouldn’t start!! I had the dough already sitting on cookie sheets, just waiting to be baked — when I realized the oven was stone-cold, even though the display informed me it was preheating. Gahhh. I then had two choices. I could either swap it for a new (yet crappy) stove, or I could wait for parts to keep my nice, new-t0-me stove.
I elected to get parts. I love my stove that much, and I’m not willing to give it up when I’ve just gotten it! I’ve seen the cheaper stoves too, and they would just make my life more difficult.
But for now it means no more baking. I’m hoping it can get fixed by the weekend, but I’m not holding my breath. The maintenance men don’t think it’s an emergency since I can still use the broiler and the range, but I need bread!
Nom nom nom. There is nothing better than fresh-baked bread, I’m telling you. Who’s with me??