I keep telling myself that you don’t have to shovel humidity. That is really a good thing, because it would be damn uncomfortable to be outside hefting a shovel in this heat. Yes, I know, who could complain about the hot weather after the long, cold winter we just endured? A lot of people apparently.
I did experience some relief from the heat last night. My lovely niece and nephew-in-law (silly word, nephew-in-law, but I don’t want to make it sound like she married her brother) got central air and gave us their window unit. It’s not your usual kind of window unit; it sits on the floor and has an exhaust tube that goes out the window. Very handy if you prefer a fan in the window when possible, which we do.
That is a good point about the weather, by the way. I don’t mind it so much being hot during the day as long as it cools off at night. I can even live with it being swelteringly hot at night if I don’t have to work the next day. I get dreadful insomnia in the heat. And that reminds me that I pretty much do have to work every day.
Ah, from there I could segue over into a lament that I was not born wealthy, like the heroines in those Regency Romances I dote on. Of course, they are not always fabulously wealthy. Sometimes they have a “respectable competence.” Sometimes it’s straightened circumstances or even genteel poverty. Sometimes they are constantly being dunned by creditors or (horrors!) have to take a position as a governess or companion. From these situations, of course, they are usually rescued by some rich, titled hottie.
Isn’t that nice? I have led myself from bitching about the weather to daydreaming about romance novels. I’ve tried to write a romance novel. Perhaps I should try again. As soon as I have finished the one I am working on, which I VOWED I would finish. In fact, why am I not working on it right now instead of messing with foolish blog posts? Ooh, that makes a good exit line. I hope you’ll tune in tomorrow,when Mohawk Valley Girl explains once again why she cannot write a decent blog post.