Hot. It’s going to be hot today and even hotter tomorrow. Like setting a new record kind of hot. Like boiling hot. Like frying an egg hot. Hot like we all have to sit around in here with all the curtains and blinds and doors tightly closed for fear the sun will cook us alive kind of hot.
We aren’t even supposed to be thinking of toasty things. No roast chicken, no fried fish, no hot boyfriend. I’m lucky I found this one sunpuddle on this warm rug to lie on else I freeze to death while everyone else claims to be broiling! It’s not fair.
Mom: Hey! Who wants ice cream? Any warm kitties want a bite of cool, refreshing vanilla ice cream? Any kitties who aren’t complaining, that is? Complainers need not apply. Pia, you aren’t complaining, are you?
Did I say it was hot? Silly me. I’m sure I didn’t know what I was saying. The heat must have left me confused.