My hair’s been on fire all day

As I write this post it is currently 110 degrees with 8% humidity.

This is what the sun looks like directly over my car

It’s been a very trying day. I got the kids off to camp.  That means I got the boy to walk with me just long enough to get the World’s Fastest Peck Near The Cheek and to peel Sassy The Barnacle off my leg. My kids are so radically different about personal space and independence.  The Bandit has things to do and I’m just generally holding him down – I’m like “The Man” only with boobs – and Sassy would crawl back up into my womb if I’d let her and there was enough room for her to take her Nintendo DS. 

When I got back to the searing hot parking lot, my car wouldn’t start.  No that’s not correct.  It would start but it wouldn’t stay started. And then it wouldn’t do anything. It took mere seconds for the sweating to start.  By the time I’d dialed My Honey’s phone number my hair was wet. I yelled at the poor man like the whole thing was his fault, which of course it wasn’t. He couldn’t rescue me.  It was absurd that I was expecting that in the recesses

$100 says this is the Fairy God"mother" I'd end up with

of my mind, but I was.  I wanted my Fairy God mother to show up and smack the car with a wand or something.  He wisely advised me to call our mechanic and AAA.  I hung up on him.  I’m not proud.

I got out of the car in a fit of pique and opened the hood – like I was going to fix it in my skirt and heels with no tools.  I stared at the engine with malice.  Then I viciously slammed the hood.  When I got back in the car, the bitch started right up. I don’t know what the slamming of the hood did other than scare her straight, but it worked. Did I call back My Honey and apologize? No I did not. I’m not proud of myself for that either, but there you have it.

So, now I was back on the road with the air conditioning cranked up to sub-arctic. I don’t know what I was so excited about.  After all it was the soul-sucking-day-job I was heading to.  It’s not like I was at risk of missing my flight to go sign the ownership paperwork for Greece or anything. 

When I left the office to met Kelli for lunch, it was 106. I don’t know about

The view of the Aegean Sea from the Quill Sister Palace

you people, but I think that’s ridiculous, and we are still days and days away from measurable rainfall.  We haven’t had a drop of moisture for a record setting 79 days. At least lunch was cathartic.  Kelli and I grumbled and compared grievances for most of the time.  We also texted with Ava who claimed she wasn’t in a bad mood like we were, but she did complain about the food on her vacation nevertheless.

I’m certain it was hotter when we left the restaurant than when we arrived.  The interior of the car was melt-your-face, catch-your-hair-on-fire hot. I drove the two blocks back to my office only to find someone parked in my covered spot.  You already know how possessive I feel about my parking spot.  I gunned the engine in heat induced rage and parked under a microscopic tree.  I took out a notebook and composed three notes I had to crumple up before I composed one that didn’t overtly threaten the other selfish driver. My lawyer says my threatening notes should be more opaque. There is a new tenant in our building and today was move-in day. I stomped, literally stomped, over to that office and “kindly” requested that driver move their vehicle tout de suite.  

By the time I finally arrived at my desk, I was alarmingly red.  In fact, my cubicle neighbor commented on it.  I’m certain it was due to the sun broiling me at 110 degrees without the benefit of a nice marinade.

The guy moved his car and even came in to apologize.  Unfortunately, I was not gracious enough to accept it without throwing in a couple digs about “polite society” and “parking lot etiquette”. I would like it noted that, even though I growled at him, I did not actually bite the man.  The summer is still relatively young, though, and there’s still time.