It’s getting hot in here. (And that does not make me happy!)

It’s getting hot in here. (And that does not make me happy!)

I’m home!  Go on, gush about how you missed me!  I can take it.

imageWhat is the worst thing about coming home?  No, not the 797 gazillion loads of laundry.  Nope, not the ants that have taken over my kitchen.  What is the worst thing about coming home?  The fact that my house was 98 degress inside because my air conditioner broke while we were gone.  Holy freaking hot house, batman!  What does that mean?  It means that even though I have been sleeping in the same room with my entire family for nearly 2 weeks, I got to do it again just a few miles away from my very own welcoming bed. My own bed.  My own room.  Sans kids.  Weep with me. So instead of coming home to the delicious comfort of my own bed, I got back in the car and went to yet another hotel.  At least they felt badly for us and upgraded us to a suite.  And really, I do love my family so much.  But all in one room?  All of the time? Not so much feeling the love anymore.

The good news is that when it comes to air conditioning, I know a guy.  (I mean, we all have to “know a guy” for something.  Mine is the air conditioning because I live in Texas and it is hotter than hell here.) So, I call my guy first thing the next day and he immediately comes over.  First comment?  “It’s hotter than hell in here!” YA THINK?  At that point our air was on but the house was a cool 96 degrees.  I grab him by his shirt and plead, “Make it not so much hotter than hell in here!” And he did.  Of course, that didn’t happen (the cooling off part) until about 3 in the morning.  Until then, there was very little movement.  Talk about holding it until your bladder bursts!  I just didn’t even want to walk to the back of the house because of the sweating.  OH the SWEATING!

But now it is cool.  And my temper is calm.  And life is good.  Not as good as it was on the beach, but good nevertheless.  I will totally tell you about the vacation.  But I have that 787 gazillion loads of laundry to do and that has me weeping.  But I learned some handy, dandy tricks on vacation.  Some not so appropriate and some really practical.  And some that are totally not G-rated.  (Get your mind out of the gutter.  Remember how I said that I shared a room with MY ENTIRE FAMILY for two weeks.  Sex was NOT on the agenda, my friends.)


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