My house hates me. If you'll recall, it wasn't so long ago that my family and I were residents of the local Best Western -- An insanely long 3 1/2 week "vacation" due to a flood of epic proportions in my guest bath. Yesterday, in a cosmic "up yours", my air conditioner decided to croak. In the middle of one of the hottest weeks of the summer. And on a weekend. In a fit of rage, I almost broke my toe kicking the crap out of the stupid unit. In addition to the heat, the Muffin would chose last evening to begin a non-violent, but very verbal sleep strike. Beautiful. Just completely freaking lovely. As I crooned the lullaby from Dumbo (Remember "Baby Mine"? It's the only thing that will calm him down usually.), rivulets of sweat rolled down the small of my back and trickled through my hair. Finally, when I realized all my attempts were futile, I let him down to cry and roll on the floor in peace. BD was hiding in the garage, playing with his dead animals, when I steamed through the door. "Must. Have. Air. Immediately." I fumed. I sent him off to Wal-Mart to pick up a window unit. I must have called him at least three times in the 20 minutes he was gone. "Are you there yet? Just pulling in? Okay, talk to you later..." *** "What aisle are you in? Do you have one in the cart yet? Bye." ***** "Where are you now? Are you close to home?!" Finally, he arrived -- within 10 minutes we had blessed, icy cool air. But, it's just a one-room unit, so the rest of the house has turned into a clam bake. At least it's been cool this morning -- but I've already looked at weather.com forty times, (furiously willing an unexplainable cold spell), and the afternoon looks like it's going to be a scorcher. Ugh.
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