My daughter grabbed the tin. “When did this start?”
“After my makeup fell in the sink and melted into something that resembled a jello shooter.”
I know I’ve asked this before, but it’s worth repeating.
Why, Dear God in Heaven, oh why…do I live in a place where people comfort each other by saying, “It may be 116 degrees, but at least it’s a dry heat.”
Dry heat my
ass foot…it’s so humid that my daughter’s been using the mirage on my kitchen table as a swimming pool for Barbie and Ken.
Before they melted, that is.
Everyone already knows the jokes about how it’s so hot in Phoenix that the trees beg for dogs and that Valley Fever isn’t an alcoholic drink, so I won’t go there.
Rather, I’m going to complain about 57 some odd hours of this week.
Just because…that’s why
This Monday started like any other.
I stepped in something wet, the cat peed on son #4′s shorts, the 16-year-old broke his tooth, son #1 needed $10, my daughter got her hair stuck in the sink faucet AFTER son #5 got his toe stuck in the toilet and son #2 spilled coke on my laptop.
That is until noon rolled around and I noticed a strange man with horns and a pitch fork was taking up residence on my couch.
“What’s all this please?” I asked as my sofa cushions turned into a puddle of wet fibers.