Hotter than Hell

It’s 91 degrees in our 3rd floor apartment, and I can literally feel myself cooking.  Okay, maybe “cooking” is an exaggeration, just like “hotter than hell” is.  But I think that if I were actually in hell, I bet there wouldn’t be this damn humidity.  I’m hot, My Guy is hot, and even Murphy is hot.


He’s got the right idea, though.  Thing is, I  can’t just lay around in an attempt to find a little relief in the warm breeze of the fan.  I’m on a deadline!  I’ve got some knitting to do in order to have this baby sweater done by the 30th.  I’m onto the sleeves, and then' I’ve got the button band. So I’m like what – halfway there?  But it just feels too icky to knit.  Actually, it feels too icky to do much of anything.

Except maybe stick my head in the freezer.

I wonder if I could knit in there…

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