Even Mewcifer thinks it's too hot
Welcome to August, the time of year when I can't remember what I ever found appealing about summer in the first place.
The yard, so beautiful at the beginning of the season, now looks like an abandoned field. In the Survival-of-the-Fittest Plant contest, the weeds are definitely winning. The grass, once green and vibrant, is now a crunchy, lackluster brown and isn't even a contender.
The endless string of ninety-plus degree days have certainly worn out their welcome. The electric meter is spinning like a whirling dervish on 5-Hour Energy. I know it's hard to believe, but the fun has definitely gone out of opening the monthly electric bill. At this rate, I'm going to need to sell a kidney and one of the kids in order to pay for these summer heat wave energy costs.
What a change from June, when the hot weather was a welcome treat, a sign that winter was really, truly over. Day 1 of hot, humid weather: It's definitely summer! Day 37 of ninety degree weather: For the love of all that's holy, can we please fast forward to February?
Yep, only August can make a Pennsylvania winter look inviting.
By this point in the summer, I've had my fill of getting dressed in front of the window air conditioning unit just to avoid receiving brush burns from putting on my bra. Likewise, a head of huge frizzy hair has also lost its appeal. By the time August rolls around, my hair has seen more silicone in the name of frizz fighting than Pamela Anderson's breasts.
And then there's summer's favorite torture trio: poison ivy, oak, and sumac. Would you believe that I am on my third round of poison ivy? This stuff just won't go away. I've had it in one form or another since May and I'm ready to let someone else have a turn.
I don't even know how I get poison ivy. It's not like I actually garden or anything (unless weed-whacking to get to the grill counts.) Yet here I am, covered in calamine lotion and wanting to scratch my skin off. I must have logged seventy-three hours Googling 'poison ivy remedies' on the internet. Let me save you the trouble: nothing works.
And of course, August wouldn't be August without some fussing from the offspring.
The kids say they're bored and there's nothing to do. I totally don't understand this at all since the last time I've experienced boredom was in 1982.
Maybe the next time they complain, I'll have them research poison ivy cures for me. That'll keep them busy.
Right after they're done weed-whacking the patio furniture.
The yard, so beautiful at the beginning of the season, now looks like an abandoned field. In the Survival-of-the-Fittest Plant contest, the weeds are definitely winning. The grass, once green and vibrant, is now a crunchy, lackluster brown and isn't even a contender.
The endless string of ninety-plus degree days have certainly worn out their welcome. The electric meter is spinning like a whirling dervish on 5-Hour Energy. I know it's hard to believe, but the fun has definitely gone out of opening the monthly electric bill. At this rate, I'm going to need to sell a kidney and one of the kids in order to pay for these summer heat wave energy costs.
What a change from June, when the hot weather was a welcome treat, a sign that winter was really, truly over. Day 1 of hot, humid weather: It's definitely summer! Day 37 of ninety degree weather: For the love of all that's holy, can we please fast forward to February?
Yep, only August can make a Pennsylvania winter look inviting.
By this point in the summer, I've had my fill of getting dressed in front of the window air conditioning unit just to avoid receiving brush burns from putting on my bra. Likewise, a head of huge frizzy hair has also lost its appeal. By the time August rolls around, my hair has seen more silicone in the name of frizz fighting than Pamela Anderson's breasts.
And then there's summer's favorite torture trio: poison ivy, oak, and sumac. Would you believe that I am on my third round of poison ivy? This stuff just won't go away. I've had it in one form or another since May and I'm ready to let someone else have a turn.
I don't even know how I get poison ivy. It's not like I actually garden or anything (unless weed-whacking to get to the grill counts.) Yet here I am, covered in calamine lotion and wanting to scratch my skin off. I must have logged seventy-three hours Googling 'poison ivy remedies' on the internet. Let me save you the trouble: nothing works.
And of course, August wouldn't be August without some fussing from the offspring.
The kids say they're bored and there's nothing to do. I totally don't understand this at all since the last time I've experienced boredom was in 1982.
Maybe the next time they complain, I'll have them research poison ivy cures for me. That'll keep them busy.
Right after they're done weed-whacking the patio furniture.
Posted in Life between spin cycles on phillyburbs.com on Friday, August 3, 2012 12:51 pm. Updated: 1:02 pm.
