Hot. Hot! HOT!!
Hot, Hot, HOT!!!
The air conditioner in my car died. Just died, unceremoniously. One minute I was cool, singing along with Mary J. Blige (“Too strong for too long, and I can’t be without you, baby). Next moment there’s oven air blowing at me through the vents. I pushed buttons like a crazy woman. ‘Off’ was the only one that changed the situation. Notice I didn’t say made it better, although I guess still hot air is better than blowing hot air. I was not happy. I was even less happy when I took it to the shop and found out it would be $2,200 to fix it (Are you kidding!!!). Now, the economics of $2200 spent on a 9 year old car sporting 105,000 miles was clear to me—not happening!
Of course it waited until scorching, humid August to croak—it’s some law of the mechanical universe. I, however, decided I could take it. I reminisced about how we didn’t have air conditioning when I was a girl—not in the house, or in the car. Oops, we didn’t have a car. Anyway, back in the good old days (yeah, right) we got by with window fans, so I could do it now. We are all so spoiled by our gizmos and gadgets. Our foremother’s got by with no fans, or cars, or phones or shoes or. . . blah, blah, blah. Uh huh, right.
So, I’ve been driving around with the windows rolled down, like in the olden days. Did I mention there is no breeze when the car is stuck in traffic? Or that I now believe the inventor of the Easy-Bake Oven got the idea while stopped in a traffic jam, because I truly think I could bake cookies on the dashboard. I have to fight the urge to run over pedestrians and other vehicles because I want to keep going so I can catch a breeze. And that sweat drips off the ends of my hair and runs in rivulets down my face, and glues my skirt to my thighs—not cute. Or that now I remember clearly how hot I used to be as a kid, stretched out in my bed, PJ’s stuck to my body, tryin’ to get to sleep?
OK, it’s official. I have been spoiled by gadgets. So, I am officially longing for fall—sweater, anyone. And when it gets really bad, I may have to borrow my husband’s car. He barely uses it anyway.