So I pose this question: How Hot Am I.
I am a prisoner of my home because it is ONE HUNDRED and TWO fucking degrees outside.
And let me tell you - it isn't a dry heat. Nope.
This is the kind of hot that makes you yearn to go to the Soylent Green facility for that final ride into dog food land.
It's so hot that the dogs refuse to go out except to do what dogs do dodo outside.
It's so freaking hot that we have the AC set on 76 and when you come in from outside it feels like December in the house.
But Cookie isn't complaining. About five years ago this weekend we moved into this house and the weather was worse. It was 95 degrees and 95% humidity.
I feel kind of bad - the family is moving in next door today, and I should be helping them, but instead, I went out, bought five bags of ice, three flats of bottled water and delivered that to them when the truck pulled up to unload its first load.
They just left to get load number two out of storage. And they hired A Guy in a Truck. Not Two Men in a Truck, this is a guy. His fifth-grade son and then two lanky teenagers.
In other news, Cookie sees travel in his future. Nothing fun - a work conference. So I have to get prepared.
And as a teaser, let me tell you this is going to be filled mishegas and lots of schlepping.