Well, that was quite the little diatribe, wasn’t it? It might have partly arisen from my heat-induced crabbiness. You all know I’m a summerphobe (well, a heatphobe), and the last few days have not been kind. It was a record-breaking 95 degrees in Oakhampton yesterday, and that’s not the kind of record I personally enjoy breaking. The most shoes? Sure. The most outstanding handbag collection? Absolutely. Richest woman in the world? Mos def. But not the hottest. At least, not in that way.
It was still 81 in my house at 2 am, when I finally sweated my way to bed last night/this morning. I knew I was doomed to another day of hell, because, let’s face it, if it’s still that hot in the middle of the night, it’s going to be really hot by noon. It’s only 10 am and it’s already 80 out there. I have all the fans going, to little or no avail. I’m seriously thinking of packing up the girls and going to an air-conditioned motel. I’m fantasizing about lounging in air conditioned bliss, ordering room service, and finally triumphing over the sun (nyah, nyah, you can’t get me!). At least for a little while.
That is one of the big pluses about moving. It never gets as hot up there as it does here, and the houses are shaded by redwoods, so they stay cool inside. If it does get hot, the ocean is just five miles away, an easy drive. And it always cools down a lot at night. I actually needed a sweater – and blankets! Oh, the bliss of blankets! – when I was there last.
If I move, as God is my witness, I’ll never be overheated again!