It is going to be REALLY hot here this week. Like, highs in the upper 90s, feels like over a hundred hot. Don’t leave the house after noon hot, don’t drive if you don’t have to because the air quality is bad enough hot, drink water all day and pray you don’t have heat stroke if you work outside hot. And if you’re hugely pregnant, just forget it, you’re going to be miserable hot. Sigh.
The truth is, I’m moving slowly these days, because I have to, but I hate feeling feeble. Yesterday I was at Linens N Things, buying a new toaster oven, because I have hated ours pretty much since the day we got it. It’s just ornery: you have to push the button down, like, five times before it sticks, it never toasts for long enough, etc. Anyway, I found this new pretty one, hoisted up the box, and started carrying it to the registers. I’d only gotten a few feet before this LNT employee popped out from behind a row of coffeemakers and offered to carry it for me. Which I know is very nice, and I should take advantage, as this is probably the only time in my life people will be offering help so openly. So I handed it over, and thanked him, but I still felt kind of frustrated. The truth is, right now, I’m huge. I can’t be on my feet for too long because my legs start to ache, I’m basically waddling, and my fingers are so stiff that I feel like I’m about eighty years old. But I’m so used to doing things for myself, and being really active, that it feels like giving up to just…stop. Like when I insisted on taking Coco to the vet the other day, even though she was all crazy and it was late in the day, and then she kicked me in the stomach when I was taking her out of the car, and I spent the entire evening CONVINCED the baby was injured and it was all my stubborn fault. I basically have medical permission right now to sit on my butt and watch TV all day. Why can’t I do it?
I guess that’s a rhetorical question? Because I don’t know the answer.
Not everyone (or thing) is looking to help me out these days, though. My old toaster oven, for instance, got its last bit of revenge when I unplugged it to take it outside to the trashcan: that little door underneath opened, and it let loose an avalanche of burned bread and crumbs all over me, and the floor, and the kitchen. Nice, right? Clearly, the animosity was mutual.
Anyway. It’s already 10am, so I better get out if I’m going. Before, you know, the mercury breaks the thermometer and eggs start frying on the sidewalk and all that.