During our no-AC-heat-wave the other week, I was extra cranky. Which meant I ate a lot of chocolate.
Starting with a chocolate leftover from Valentine’s Day:
Make someone melt today.
I had to lick the wrapper clean because the chocolate was melty.
Obviously, I got someone else’s chocolate because I was the one who was melting. Jerks….
Annoyed that the chocolate wronged me, I bought popsicles. Worried that they may have melted the second I walked inside, I shoved them in the freezer to refreeze before partaking.
To kill time, I ate another melty chocolate, which said, “Happiness never decreases by being shared.”
Whoa. Maybe that first chocolate was mine. Now I had two choices:
- Hoard all of the popsicles and make someone melt today. Bwahahahaha!
- Share the popsicles and their freezy goodness.
So I shared the popsicles with my coworkers. After all, the box had 12. So 9 lucky coworkers got popsicles. Yes, I had 3. Don’t judge.
Favorite Comment From Last Post: “Huh. I thought cats needed to be hung to dry. Boy do I feel stupid….”—ttgeorges1123
Last week I
had to get up earlier than usual was late to work because I had to scrape frost off my windshield. This week…I’m wondering if I’d get fired for taking off my pants.
I’m hot. And not sexy hot. I’m sweaty hot. And not glistening sweaty. I’m I-think-I-just-wet-my-underoos-no-that’s-just-sweat sweaty.
That’s how hot it is. I don’t even care how embarrassing it is to share with you that my thighs have soaked my undies. To dry them, I’m sitting spread-eagle at my desk…in a dress. Classy.
My legs scream “Open for Business,” but I don’t care.
we’re I’m sharing, although I have a cold water bottle behind my neck, I really want to shove it down the front of my dress.
Apparently, switching on the AC requires a gazillion different approvals plus a dead body, so yesterday and again today we’re all sitting inside a 90-degree building….crying because no one would sacrifice themselves to the AC gods.
Ok, so maybe I was the only one actually crying. But only half of the time. The other half of the time I was begging for a Channing Tatum-look-a-like cabana boy to fan me.
Favorite Comment From Last Post: “I used to have an apartment where there was a small access panel (to the bath plumbing) in my bedroom. The first guy I showed it to swore that was where the trolls live. I never opened it, just to be sure.”—BluzDude