Three forty-five in the afternoon and it’s 115 degrees in the shade of the back porch.
A friend of mine heard from her son, who’s serving time in the state prison for diddling a chippie (yes…that unkind description DOES fit) who was three days under the age of consent when her mother walked in on them. (Apparently bringing a naïve and horny kid home while Mom was out had become something of a hobby for the young lady — she had a fake ID and used it for hanging out in bars). Mom, who had in the recent past told her little Boopsie to quit doing that, called the cops and the young man — a college freshman — arrested…for child molesting!
Yeah.
Along about noon today, he told his mom, over the phone, that the temp inside his cell was 114. Apparently inmates’ relatives have been on the horn with the warden, who says there’s not a thing he can do about it.
Oh well… Here at the Funny Farm, we have the hose running on the bedding plants…and see that the backyard hose is turning to mush. Its surface is…squishy. Squishy and sticky.
Apparently it’s shot. I should go up to the HD and order another hose. But…my GAWD i don’t wanna go driving around in this heat to get another damn hose.
At Amazon reviews of this type of hose are wildly mixed. This does nothing to enthuse me about ordering another one.
ogawdogawdogawd….
Adding to my friend’s angst over her (wildly unjustly!) imprisoned son, when we got back to her place this afternoon, she couldn’t find her little pet dog!
Ohhhhhhhforgodsake.
We searched and we called and we hollered and we called and we searched and…just as we were giving up, the pooch surfaced.
Talk about your Days from Hell. My poor pal!
You understand…115 in the shade isn’t THAT hot here. It’s surely not out of the ordinary for a July afternoon. Except for those big towering white clouds building up to the north and the east. Yep: we got humidity on top of the spectacular heat.
And that indeed DOES make for a miserable afternoon.
