Sigh. It is hot in hurr.
You know those summer days when it's so gosh-darn hot that you sleep in pretty much nothing, on top of the covers with a rotating fan beside your bed? Yeah, last night was one of those nights. And I'll tell you, I did not sleep well. And I can be assured that tonight will be much of the same. Which is why I am glad that I do not work tomorrow.
Also, I am glad that I live in a climate zone where it is not humid. Thank you, Big Guy, for small mercies.
And also, you should know that it really is hot. It's hot enough to cause me to go out and buy shorts (not capris, not board shorts, not bermudas, like actual, mid-thigh length shorts). I haven't worn shorts since 2003. I hate shorts. Shorts are basically the bane of my existence, my nemesis, the only part of summer I don't love. Don't ask me why. It's irrational and involves complicated tan lines, a summer of getting burned by a pizza oven and spilling vanilla soft-serve mix on one's upper thighs while pouring it into the ice cream machine. Also, getting heat stroke indoors.
No one said I was sane.
ANYWAY. Yesterday I caved, and in combination with a Barrhead Fun Run T-shirt from the late 70s/early 80s belonging to my uncle Ted that I pilfered from my Grandma's house, I looked EXACTLY like a camp counsellor.
Gather close, Campers. Counsellor Megan is going to teach you several crucial survival skills, like the proper proportion of gin to tonic, how to walk in high heels, and why you should never ever ever get gel nails, no matter how 'classy' you think they look with your piano-key blonde highlights.
Puffed Wheat Squares
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