The Weather

Fuck me, it’s hot out.  Already.  Mrs. Wigglebottom and I came back from our walk and both just had to stand in front of the air vent and let the coolness blow on us.

The thermometer says 77, but I think that’s a count of how many minutes it takes before you don’t feel like you are about to die after coming in out of this stuff.

Everything has a kind of brownish haze.  It’s just nasty.

And, with this post, complaining about the weather, I have officially sunk to a new low of old-people-ish behavior. 

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