LOL! That was one of my father’s favorite turns of phrase:
- Hotter than a by-gawd
- Hotter than a two-dollar cookstove
- Hotter than a three-dollar pistol
- Hot enough to fry eggs on the sidewalk
On and on…. He was a good Texas boy, a dyed-in-the-wool Southerner, and he had a suitcase full of little sayings like that.
😀
Who knows what he’d pull out today, if he were still among us! Thermometer in the shade of the back porch reads 103. And yeah: he’d regard that as passing warm. Wunderground says we’re supposed to reach 109 today, though.
Me: just back from a dog-free stroll around the ‘Hood. No doubt not my wisest move of the day…. 😮
Probably ought to take a shower to cool down. But…well…I’m too lazy just now to regard cleaning the bathtub afterward as a lovely way to spend time this morning. And o’course, you fail to wipe down the plastic walls after a shower…at your peril. A giant scrubbing job is NOT what I want to tuck into the cards.
Meandering up the sidewalk, I passed workmen at a couple of houses — guys who looked like they were engaged in carpentry or painting. LORDIE! Can you imagine doing that kind of physical work in 110-degree heat?
And yes, it soon will be 110°…at least. Just now, it’s only 10:30 in the morning!
WhatEVER possessed my parents to drag us to Arizona???
Well, they thought Sun City was about the greatest innovation the human race ever devised: “No kids screaming outside my window when I’m trying to take a nap,” my father intoned, with pleased awe.
Adding to that bit of charm, Sun City was then and is now as whitey-white as you can get. To my parents, that was a positive trait of the first rank.
That was in 1962: sixty-four years ago!
Even today: an African-American friend of mine — a business professional — had the brazen nerve to buy a house out there. He was literally HOUNDED out of the place. Within six months, he sold up and moved out.
I suggested he buy the house for sale across the street from the Funny Farm. He declined. Apparently felt moving his blackness into our neighborhood was not a kind thing to do. Or maybe he didn’t care to dodge bullets flying down from the slum to the north of us… 😀
We are, after all, parked in lovely Sunnyslope: a crime-ridden slum of the first water.
No kidding. Parts of it — such as our neighborhood — are on the high side of upper-middle class. They qualify as North Central Phoenix, a tony district, indeed. But get six blocks to the north of us, and…hang onto your (hard-)hat!
Lordie! What a place!