OMG.
It.
Is.
Sweltering.
No other word for it.
40 degrees Celsius with the humidex.
104 degrees Fahrenheit
I don't mind the heat so much.
Given that I spent all winter complaining about how cold I was, the heat is not an issue.
But the humidity is an entirely different matter.
You can practically squeeze the moisture out of the air like water from a sponge its that humid.
We've had two almost appearing instantaneous thunderstorms already.
Sunny one minute.
Dark as midnight clouds, booming thunder, pelting rain the next.
Tikka cowering and quaking underneath the kitchen table.
Frankie sitting at the window watching it all happen, and wondering why he can't go outside and cool down, even just for a few minutes.
Me driving home from work, barely able to see if there's a car in front of me, and wondering why I am even bothering to use the wipers.
Because even at high speed they're not doing anything to improve my visibility.
Logic and common sense would have been to pull over, perhaps.
But Stephen home, alone, terror stricken Tikka, Frantic Frankie and contractors, electricians and plumbers (Oh My!) showing up who knows when was enough to spurn me onwards back to the ranch.
According to the Weather Network, there is supposed to be a break in the weather by Sunday.
I hope so.
I don't know how much longer Stephen and I can remain civilized with one another, given our current living conditions and the oppressive heat.
Our plans for today were so very simple.
Me having coffee with friends before their month long adventure anticipating-the-arrival-of-their-next-grandchild.
And then connecting with my beleaguered research assistant, who hasn't seen hide nor hair of me for the entire week because of the mayhem in my living room.
Stephen meeting me at the air conditioned Harriet Irving Library for 10.30 am, so we can bask in the coolness of the Commons and drink venti Starbucks while working on our respective projects.
Doesn't it just look cooler?
But you know what they say about the best laid plans.
After meeting with my research assistant, I returned to my office to check emails before heading to the library.
And there was one from Stephen.
Sharing more joy and happiness with me.
Apparently, there was a frayed wire found in the wall once the contractors had removed all of the gyprock.
A wire that needed to be replaced asap, because until it was, nothing else was moving forward, meaning our living room would continue to look like this for an even longer period of time.
The frayed wire is the one resting directly in front of the pipe.
Stephen called our electrician immediately and he said he'd be here after 11.30 am.
Fearing a melted pipe, he called the plumber, again, and they would arrive sometime around 3.00 pm.
As soon as I had finished reading his email, there he was, in the flesh, standing in my office.
having just dropped Keith off at work.
He flopped into the comfy blue chair, turned the fan to blow directly upon him, and repeated the events I had just finished reading in his email.
Already, he looked worn out, and it wasn't even 10.30 am.
We decided to be responsible, forgo our cool trip to the library and return home to face the expensive music being played by the contractors, plumbers and electricians.
He then, as an afterthought, said that my former-mother-in-law, with whom I am very close, called to see how things were, and specifically, what was going on with Her Nibs, Miss Meredyth.
I decided to call her back from the office, because I had no idea who was going to be in the house or how much noise they were going to be making.
So Stephen heads out the door.
I dial, she says hi!
And there is a knock at the door.
I don't even say hello to her, just, "Hold on a sec. . .someone is at the door."
Opening the door I see none other than my handsome husband standing at the door.
In his haste to get back to the house, he grabbed two plastic, toy motorcycles.
Thinking they were Em's car keys.
I suspect he would have had a hard time starting the car with them.
But you never know.
Or it was just a physical manifestation of his state of mind.
Once home, I was confronted with a hot, cranky and bored Emily.
As if there was something I could do about it.
All I could do was sit here and wait for the various men who claim they are fixing my house to arrive, assess, repair (hopefully) and leave.
While, of course, inciting the terror and anger of Frantic Frankie.
As it was, someone from the restoration company had dropped off a box of paint chips for me to peruse.
That was about the only welcoming site in my house.
And it gave me something to do while I ate lunch.
Salad.
Hummus.
Grapes.
Exciting. I know.
Contractor and electrician arrived at the same time.
I had already picked out the color I wanted for the living room.
Scarlett Sage.
Trust me.
It'll look good.
Stephen selected the office color.
He spends the most time in there.
Lime something or other.
Looks sort of like this:
Or maybe he thinks this is the best way to keep me out of the office.
By blinding me.
As a testament to how hot it is, Stephen actually agreed that going to a movie last night was a good idea.
Normally, I have to fight, threaten, beg, plead, barter, or just one of those if it's a good day, to get him to even agree that seeing a movie is a good idea.
Keith and Em were already at the movies, as they both had the day off and had previously made plans to head to the dark, cool theaters for the afternoon.
Harry Potter.
Keith was working the night we went to see it.
Knowing Stephen was in need of a laugh, we saw Horrible Bosses.
Initially, we were in the third row from the front.
Tolerable.
But shortly afterwards, we found ourselves sitting right up front and to the right.
Because that's what happens when someone spills their upsized Diet Coke a couple of aisles behind you and all of a sudden your Birkenstock clad feet are swimming in a sea of Diet Coke while the boob behind you mutters a weak apology while running back to the concession stand for a refill.
Further, the theaters are built on a slant, so that liquid runs down to the front of the theater where it pools.
And sits.
Ice melting.
Sitting amid a pile of melting ice and Diet Coke is an offense to Stephen's Mr. Clean-OCD-sensibilities, so off to the very front of the theater we went.
Fine for Mr. I-have-legs-longer-than-most-people's-torsos.
Lots of room for him to stretch his six foot four inch self.
But for us mere, short, mortals, sitting in the front row results in nothing more but a headache from being to close, a neck ache from resting your head on the back of the seat, and a back ache from the slouching so you can rest your head on the back of the seat.
It just isn't a nice world for short people.
But. . .
It was an air conditioned front row and to the right theater, so I tolerated it.
Because sometimes tolerating is all you have.
Title Lyric: Let's Paint Our Teeth Green by Margot and the Nuclear So and Sos
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