PrologueRevelation: Florida is hot.
Correction: Florida is obscenely hot. We are not just closer to the sun then everyone else, we are the first colony built directly ON the molten surface of the sun.
Secondary Revelation: Florida becomes infinitely more calescent when the Air Conditioner is broken.
The only fate worse than being incarcerated in a sweltering house on a torrid Florida day is doing said time in the big house with three hot children. As if being in a house that was bordering on 90 degrees was not enough to induce a DVT and a febrile seizure, just factor in the acrimonious attitudes of my children and I was at a boiling point. My children's peevishness was eclipsed only by my own irascibility (that one was for you, Sherry!) and splenetic misanthropy. In other words, the kids were crabby, and I was crabbier, it was some bad juju up in there.
Did I mention that it was hot? Well, it was, and I was irritable. It was like the worst day of PMS combined with the day all the world ran out of chocolate and the only thing available to wear was a pair of irregular pantyhose from the clearance bin that have a third leg (I always wonder what they mean by "slightly irregular") and you have a big zit, right in the middle of your cheek that you can't get rid of, even with the strongest, most powerful zit creams on the market, and it mocks you every morning, as if to say "Here I am, I am strong like bull," it's Mount Zitlympous! Don't laugh, the zit thing really happened... Sorry, back to the story, there was no way I was cooking in that kitchen. We got ready in our jungle of a bathroom, I swear, there were parrots and snakes in there...and made our way to the local Perkins. I realize that I have mentioned elderly persons and their penchant for dining at that particular establishment previously, but even I was shocked when we entered the restaurant, it was a convocation of the ancients. I am not lying, I swear I saw the ghost of Wilford Brimley hovering over the tables, smiling upon those sweet little diabetics eating their sugar-free pie. We were in Zeus' Library, and we were packing three of the most clangorous lads ever to walk the earth. The only sounds in the room were the quiet clacking of ill-fitting dentures and the scraping of spoons against tiny bowls of cottage cheese and creamed corn. We fell for their scheme, "Kids Eat Free," which is a clever way to lower the median age of the patron to at least 70 (thus lowering their insurance premiums.) Now, after a stressful, sticky day, I was going to attempt to keep the cacophony to a minimum and prevent my children from having an unfortunate encounter with the business end of Edna's cane, what fun. We managed to eat, barely. Getting to church was a relief, it was cool there, adult people were talking (in complete sentences, I might add,) and my kids went to a special class, taught by deaf-mutes who weren't bothered by their ceaseless chatter. It was heaven.
We were fortunate, a dear, sweet friend loaned us a window mount air conditioner. Shadric and I installed it in our bedroom using high-tech materials like duct tape and trash bags...it is so indescribably ghetto-fabulous. We had a family camp-out. Did I mention how much I detest camping? The kids thought it was the best thing ever, so we celebrated by consuming copious amounts of microwave popcorn and soda. The bright side of this story? The fix-it man is coming tomorrow, and that is more wonderful than I can convey. I might cry when he arrives. I am thinking of surprising him with floral arrangements and a tray of assorted smoked meats. (Do you think that's overkill?)