Summertime Bitch

Heat and hormones don’t mix.  I get mean in the heat.  You know when you can hear yourself losing it?  When vitriolic tones spill from your lips and you don’t even want to be around you?   That’s me in the dog days of summer.  The rest of the year I do my best to be a kind person.  I open doors.  I use my pleases and thank-yous…  I actually mean them.  When there’s a heat wave?  My kindness evaporates and I want to murder fluffy bunnies.

Swollen ankles and feet.  Sweaty shins.  Pressure on my chest.  The urge to weep because of the afore-mentioned…   Crabby, whiny, petulant – and that’s with me not even voicing 3/4 of the things that I wan to say.

Random person says, “I just love this heat!”    I think, “I would love to see your decapitated, iced head on a platter providing me with the Popsicle that I so badly need right now.”

Random person says, “Enjoy it while it’s here!  This is Canada…”  I think, “Are you a fucking moron?   Environment Canada has told people to stay indoors so that they’d don’t DIE!  This is not a perk!!”

Random person says, “It’s shorts and skirt weather!”  I think, “FUCK YOU AND YOUR THIGH GAP!!!  I have literally stopped while walking down a busy sidewalk, grabbed the purse sized medicated Gold Bond powder stashed within my messenger bag, lifted my skirts and powdered my inner thighs IN PUBLIC to stop the rubbed-raw skin from KILLING me.”

This may be why David makes me so many cocktails in the summer.