When over half of the morning disappears in a daze of switching fans on, turning them to (first) blow cool air in and (then) hot air out, trying to find the witching hour when it suddenly becomes hotter outside than in and racing to imprison the house from the heat of the day ... when this is what summer means, I am so over it.
I'd like seven days (okay, maybe five) of eighty degrees and then, fall please. I'm ready now for crisp, cool air with the hint of a fireplace burning in the early morning, foamy cappuccinos with nutmeg, sweaters, falling leaves.
Or maybe - I'm just ready for an air conditioner.
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