Holy Sweet Baby Gee, it is HOT up in here! Sitting here sweating to death in my own home lusting after my neighbors two (2!) air conditioning units that I can almost reach out and touch from the comfort of my couch reminds me of my complete dependance upon what my family would call “bought air.”

The sweltering heat lately does not help one bit. I am reminded that there are many people, in this country and others, that do just fine without the magic that is central air conditioning and I say to them, “More power to you,” but I affirm to you now that I would not last one single day in any of these places.  Not. One. Day.

We do have two window units, one for Miss O’s room and one for our bedroom. I seek solace in their cool and steady breeze at every opportunity, but the rest of the house remains a testament to global warming and creates the most horrible transition out of either of the aforementioned rooms. The second you open the door to exit said rooms, you are faced with a wall of muggy heat that can only be what it feels like to enter hell.  The front half of you is instantly oppressed by a heavy blanket of damp sweaty hotness that only sounds like a good time because the words “damp” and “hotness” are so close together. It takes your breath away and if it’s a really hot and heavy, you’ll get a little dizzy and maybe feel the Earth move under your feet. So basically it’s a teenage girl’s impression of meeting your true love for the first time.

The other half of you is still lingering in that cool, happy place, where you might even be a bit chilly and debate a hoodie, or maybe that throw blanket that you have on the couch, but you’re not quite sure why because you don’t have time to cuddle up on the couch in that throw anymore, let alone get a moment alone to even think about time alone on that comfy couch anymore…

…but I digress.

So you’re still all comfy cool back there and it’s just one hell of an awful shock to suddenly go from slightly chilly to full on humidity. As Hubs and I often say, “It’s Florida hot.” Well, we don’t live in Florida anymore and I had the joy of blessed bought air down there, so why on Earth must I suffer a thousand punishments coated in sweat in Massachusetts?!?

Oh, right.  NO. CENTRAL. AIR.

We do have this insane thing in our ceiling called a house fan, which basically looks like a commercial grade wind tunnel opening and sounds like a muffled DC10 engine with a slow, rhythmic humming that is apparently supposed to draw all the warm air out of the house, into the attic and then unleashes it upon the world to go heat the hell out of someone else’s house. It gives me migraines, but it definitely relieves the crankiness mugginess.

And so I sweat, staring out longingly at my neighbors expensive central air, through their expensive fence and up at their expensive addition.  Then I muse about their potential electric bill, possible construction loans and how they had to move out of their house for six months.

It’s just about then I slink back into my bedroom, turn on the window unit and buy as much air as possible.