So hot. Panting. Nearly too hot to type.
Our AC is out again and I'm melting. It's actually cooler outside than it is in my house and the repair guy won't be here until Monday.
I'd considered pitching the tent and sleeping outside, but I'm scared the fox will show up and say the vulpine equivalent of, "Hallo. My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die," after the smiting prayers and subsequent fox roadkill incident(s).
Okay, if you don't read my Facebook posts, you have no idea what I'm talking about and it's too hot to explain right now. Maybe Monday.
After I've scooped my all my melted brain matter and put it back into my cranial cavity.