I can't ignore the heat. It's getting to me in a bad way, a way that makes my head roil and my heart thump. When I feel the trickle of sweat that rolls down the middle of my back and then collects somewhere near the top of my bottom, I feel hot.
Like Blanche Dubois, I am wandering listlessly, restless, and self-flagellating with a soaked, flannel nappy. It's a large square of wetness that I can drape in any number of ways on my person.
This is probably where the comparison ends in my favour.
Unlike Blanche, I am not smoking. And unlike Blanche, I am not making eyes at a man in a singlet who looks like Marlon Brando but who's name is Stanley Kowalski.
Unlike Blanche, I am not coiffed. My hair is a bird's nest of Dilleresque proportions, thanks to a swim in a friend's pool this morning, and wearing a hat, on top of yesterday's beach hair.
Also, unlike Blanche, I am dressed for the weather. While she was dressed in a very frou-frou frilly, chiffony house-dress, and trying to be elegant, I am schlomping around in not entirely unattractive, and quite strappy, black slip. I drift, as I recline, as I wallow, and I complain. I've been wearing this for two days now. It's the coolest thing next to naked, which I can't do as the house is filled with children.
So yesterday at various stages I said or yelled the following things:
"Some of us are going crazy here!"
"So are you happy in this marriage?"
[Drinking an enormous glass of chardonnay at 6pm, breaking our alcohol-free January pact] -
"Yes, I've cracked, I'VE CRACKED AS YOU CAN SEE!"
"I'M NOT GOING TO BE ABLE TO SLEEP!!!"
"I don't hate your children, that's what you think, DON'T YOU???!!!!"
"Fuck, four more days of this???????"
"If you saw Vicki Christina Barthelona, you'd probably want to leave me for the stability of someone like Pene Cruz. You would!"
"I wonder what the statistics are for people going mad on hot days like this."
"I wonder what the stats are for murder and other bad stuff on hot days like this."
[Storming out of MSAC because they had a "lock-out" and then stuffed up their numbering system] -
"You can keep that [tossing scrunched ticket at slow, dimwitted tool behind counter] WE ARE LEAVING!!!"
I am not the most tolerant at the best of times. I am not suited to the super hot. I have a Celtic background, my genetic memory is in a spin and my body is like a broken record - Nolikenolikenolikenolikenolikenolike. Nocandonocandonocandonocando. Dyingdyingdyingdyingdyingdyingdying.
Like all other Melburnians, I am amused* that the cool change we can expect will bring a temperature of 30-35 degrees on Saturday, and that then we won't be any cooler than 30 for several days following.
The one thing I can't stop is the coffee. I will drink it hot, that's fine. But I've also taken to having my morning coffee as normal, then putting the rest of the pot in the fridge so that later in the day I can have an iced coffee.
I think we plan to go to the beach again this evening, perhaps for cold beers and fish and chips. We will take the Gigi for a swim, but it will still be too hot to walk, even though it's only 10 mins.
So with the black, the coffee, and, it seems, the whinging, I am a true daughter of this fine city.
Time to go and re-soak my wet nappy.
* so amusing, I want to ram a fork into my head.
5 comments:
Good news - it's still january so drink away.
I had a fever with this silly "cold" last night which was surreal in this heat. I have spent the day in bed but fortunately clothing is optional.
I do feel for you people in Australia. No rain and soooooo hot. It's always hot here in the tropics but not hot like your hot. Your hot is really hot. But I don't think you need me to remind you of that do you.
Drink plenty, and I don't mean just water.
x
Did I say February? I meant January. I know Feb is the official no-drinky-poos month, but we did January. Until I cracked big time.
So hot.
We went to the beach, after about 40 mins there was a blessed change in teh wind. It swung around southerly, was cooler, became very gusty almost stormy. I felt like dancing like in those old Rexona ads. But then, we've just walked up Fitzroy St after pizza and a beer, and it's so fucking hot. Again.
I am lucky that my children are still young enough to not bat an eyelid when I walk around in my underwear, although this does seem to encourage them to blow raspberries on my bare stomach and try to spray my butt with cold water.
It is possible that my wife also encourages them to engage in activities of this nature.
A friend moved over there a couple of years ago and she reckons Melbourne is hotter than Perth. I know we don't have the same water restrictions - sponge baths only or something?
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