Georgia...Like Sitting on the Hell-Mouth

So, I turned on the Today Show this morning while my husband got ready for work (yes that’s right…I have off for the summer…the joys of teaching!!), and when my local weather came on I immediately wanted to cry…or curse…’cause cursing is one of my favorite things to do.

Why, you may ask? Because today is supposed top out at around 100 degrees, but with the added joys of soup-like humidity, it will feel like 110. Now, I know those of you who live in Texas or Arizona are scoffing at my wimpiness as you read this. But to you I say…were you spawned from the depths of hell??! Because I was born in Buffalo (see my previous discussion of what this means) and my arctic youth did not prepare me to melt.

And I blame The Hubs for this of course, because it is his fault that I now live on the hell-mouth. I am slowly morphing into a creature from the depths. As I walked the dog I found myself slowing to a meandering shuffle, loping from shady spot to shady spot. I spread my arms and legs as far from each other as possible so that no part of my body touched another. I’m pretty sure I was grunting. I imagine I looked something like this:

My dog began to cower:

 (Not my real dog)

I began to wonder if this swampy environment would have me growing scales and gills. I’m pretty sure I could have breathed fire (as I had not yet brushed my teeth for the day), and I found myself wanting to torture small creatures. I chased neighborhood cats and let my dog attempt to attack a squirrel (sorry Bodha, I’m sure you were just playing and this act was in no way intentionally malicious).

I began to look for Buffy the Vampire Slayer behind the perfectly manicured bushes in my neighbors’ yards, with certainty that I could take her. I mean seriously…she weighed what, 100 pounds? Plus by this point I could spray her with my thick blood which had to be black and inky, as I imagine most demon blood is. I would have the advantage of blinding her. Plus, my killer dog (who had now joined me in my obsession with taking over our gated community) would distract her until I could take her out with my dog’s zippy leash or smother her with a poop bag pulled from Bodha’s little bone shaped poop bag holder.

When I returned home, I spent some time laying directly on top of the air conditioning vent . Finally, once I reverted back to my human form, I came to this conclusion: people weren’t meant to live in Georgia. Hubs…this is directed at you.

(Disclaimer: No cats, dogs, squirrels, demons or vampire slayers were actually harmed in the events leading up to the writing of this blog post.)