It is here, the disgustingly hot of Summer. It’s Houston, TX, so there’s still a few more degrees to add on, but for all intents and purposes it’s blue blazes outside.
I’ve moved into the bedroom, forsaking the rest of the house unless it is absolutely necessary—kitchen for food, garage for laundry or going out. Forget everything else. When the mercury reads 100+ degrees outside our A/C can, at best, get the house down to 80. Several years ago we purchased a rolling A/C unit to put in the bedroom. R2, as it’s affectionately known (thought it looks more like R5-G19, along with two oscillating fans, keep my polar-bear-with-gravy-for-blood fat ass from melting.
(we could not have survived before electricity. we’d have lost our shit and had to be put down.)
I have a friend whose A/C has been out for several years now. He says he’s okay with it, and that because of his Arab ancestry the heat doesn’t bother him. I believe him because no one is that macho. Not for several years in this heat. I actually envy him. He’s perfectly suited, genetically speaking, for the summers here, which run from May to November.
He says, “Anything 70 or below is cold.”
I say, “Anything 70 or above is hot.”
Still, as much as I complain, it’s not as bad for me as it is for my dogs. Can you imagine being covered in fur? Ugh! I remember reading a comic when I was younger. Someone was protesting that wearing fur is murder, to which one of the anthropomorphized animals chimed in, “Especially in Summer!”
As I write this, the dogs are with me in the bedroom. They are generally on the bed. I don’t blame them. We have painted concrete floors, which look nice but are hard as . . . well, concrete. At the same time, until the room cools down, the concrete floors are much cooler than the soft bed. In fact, if it weren’t for all the dog hair, I might get on the floor to cool off sometimes myself.
(don’t judge us. it’s too damned hot to sweep!)
But at the moment it’s cool in here. We’re all happy, fed, and relaxing. There’s a few hours still before bedtime, time to piddle-paddle with lazy things. I’ll probably read and watch reruns of Deep Space Nine.
The hum of the fans adds to the sleepy ambience.
I hear a sigh from the foot of the bed. Sounds like I’m not the only one being lulled into a somnambulant state. Huck and Domino are spooning; Domino has his arm over Huck like he’s hugging him (see feature image above). It’s miserable outside right now, but in here life is pretty good.
And from somewhere in the depths of my mind, I hear Randy Newman sing, “You’ve got a friend in me.”