Hot town, summer in the city
Matt learned early on that Priscilla and hot weather do not mix.
I don’t generally go on and on about being a New Englander and my regional pride and so forth, and to be perfectly frank it probably has nothing to do with me being a New Englander. But the fact of the matter is that I would prefer a three dog night to a sticky, sweaty, fever-ravaged summer evening in Washington, DC any day.
I don’t know how I lived through a singular summer in the District, I don’t know how I survived NJ for two summers, and I don’t really know how I’m going to manage another summer in Boston at this insane rate of global warming. One cannot expect me to act logically in this heat. One cannot expect me to spend a minute indoors without air conditioning. And one can CERTAINLY not expect me to ever go OUT OF DOORS in this heat. The consequence of attempting any of the above is that I will probably eat your babies. And your babies’ babies. And then wash them down with an iced coffee. Dunkin Donuts’ medium one-and-one, please. NOW!
Matt saw it in my eyes on Sunday when I woke up from a nap in a disgusting pool of sweat. He knew that if he didn’t immediately put down his laptop and go down three flights of stairs to haul up three heavy window air conditioners, install them, and turn them on “high” that he would probably not last through the evening. So he did it without a single whispered epithet and instantly became my greatest hero. And last night when I proclaimed that I was definitely going to leave the AC on for the dog the next day, AND DON’T EVEN FIGHT ME ON THIS! DO YOU KNOW HOW HOT IT WAS IN HERE WHEN I GOT HOME!?!, he merely requested that we only keep the unit in the bedroom running, which is very logical since she doesn’t leave the bedroom at all when we’re gone.
Now you know. Now you know not to cross me on a hot day.
And before you go on and on about POOR MATTY THIS and POOR MATTY THAT… his reward for putting up with me during endless hot summers is a freezer packed FULL of water ice and those disgusting plastic tubes of frozen sugar water that he eats 6 at a time. And every time I go to the grocery store I point him down the frozen food aisle saying “make sure you pick out a treat for yourself!”
Besides, with all of the wrappers I continue to find scattered around his car, I’m pretty sure he’s hitting up the ice cream truck every afternoon.
