I live in Big Thicket, which should be called Big Skillet where we fry up our eggs on the sidewalk from late May until October. Why? Just because we can.
Now I don’t want to sound bitchy but I am. If you have little delicate sensibilities, you might want to skip this post.
Summer time is supposed to be slow and carefree; a time when you pull off your shoes and dangle your shapely ankles in the clear water of the lake or your backyard pool. You sip lemonade that appears mysteriously out of nowhere and smile sweetly from under your straw hat.
That is not how it is coming down here at my house. I’m slow moving, sure, but carefree packed its suitcases and moved to Canada without so much as a kiss goodbye. My shapely ankles are swollen to water balloon size by lunchtime when the lemonade and sandwich fairy should deliver the goods, but evidently she has moved on as well.
I know I should be grateful. I have a roof over my head. There are terrible disasters everywhere, but I am just a hot self-centered woman trying to escape ridiculously high energy bills and I am not running my air conditioner and that very fact is running my life.
Sweaty Hugs,
Ida Clare
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