In the heat, roads shimmer. You can see the heat rising. Every time the Google lady tells you the temperature count on it to be at least 5F higher. City life is embedded in concrete. In the evening, at least now that it is heading towards the end of the summer, there is a relief with 56F. Wish it stayed like this throughout the day. I hate the sun.
In the heat, I cannot run. My body overheats on mile 1. It makes the rest of the miles torture. Like somebody tied rubber bands to my legs and torso. It is unknown who. Otherwise, I would seriously punch them to the gut and maybe the face as well.
In the heat, I cannot bake bread. The oven makes it too hot in the house because the kitchen is part of the living room. I’ve heard that usually, the coolest place in the house is the kitchen. Could be just a wife’s tale. Like Russian — “Vodka cures everything.” Not sure why this analogy.
In the heat, my dog suffers. When he hunts mice he forgets just how hot it is outside. Then he becomes too hot. I can feel it when I touch his fur when I give him love with the palm of my hand. Then we have to find a shady spot by the water to kill two birds with one stone: cooling off and a drink. Having many parks with both options by my house makes it easier for me and the beastie. I cannot believe what luck it was picking the place where I live. It happened blindly by putting a finger on a map with my eyes closed. For some reason, this is the biggest paragraph. I guess it shows how much I can talk about my dog.
In the heat, I switch to white wine. Because it is so light and refreshing I drink it like water. This results in copious consumption. I don’t know why I don’t have a hangover the next day. I love wine.
In the heat, days meant to be spent lazily with Colette’s stories under an umbrella. Some frozen liquid goodness in a glass with a straw. With the view of the ocean or at least a vast river. No luck here. 8 to 5 with airconditioning that makes me put wool gloves on.
Yes, we are a family of Summer haters.