It's too darn hot!

I love the warm weather of summer! Nor, really. I seldom complain about the heat.

For instance I'll be more likely to say "It's so hot," rather than "It's too hot," but last night was one of those nights. I couldn't bloody well sleep even with the fan on me full blast. It was blazing, Baby.

I confess to harbouring some resentment to wards my landlords for being so slow to re-install the blinking air-conditioner. I think I resent more the fact that to get anything done you have to play the helpless female act:

"It's just so hot that I can't sleep and the air conditioner is so big and heavy!"

Then come the magic words to seal the deal:

"...And I just don't know what to do!"

*grumblestupidboyheadedsnotfairgrumblegrowlsnarl!*

(Mind you, you've got to play it cool; you've got to not lay it on too thick. Cocking your head to one side, twirling a lock of hair around your finger with the requisite knock-kneed stance that points one foot inward is okay, or puppy-dog eyes barely brimming over with just a hint of a pout is okay, but you can't work them all together at once. That's just overkill.)

It's not the heat that gets you, but the humidity which, as any black woman will tell you, is murder for the hair. (The avoidance of a humidity-induced hair casualty is one of the benefits of braids, I gotta tell ya.)