I hate summer.
Okay, that’s really not true. I like summer – summer means sitting on the patio sipping beer from frosty mugs and barbecuing juicy steaks. Summer means sunshine and lots of outdoor fun, warm breezes, pasta salad and baseball on television, and those are all great things.
But it also means it’s gonna be hot, which means I’m gonna sweat. I hate being hot and I hate being sweaty.
Right now it’s sweltering outside. It wouldn’t be so bad if it weren’t so fucking humid – the humidity has bumped the temperature well over the 100-degree mark for the last few days.
The haze is thick and hangs in the air; checking the mail leaves me in a full body sweat, for Chrissake. Being outdoors for any length of time in this heat is totally draining – we spent the afternoon at my girlfriend’s yesterday christening the new sprinkler she’d bought for her son and after like, an hour we had to head inside.
Even though I’d slathered her with sunscreen, Julia turned a somewhat alarming shade of pink and I felt like the sun had sucked out all of my brain power – I felt dazed. And confused.
I was so tired when we got home that I skipped my Aquafit class, opting instead to lie on the couch basking in the glory that is central air. I toyed with the idea of taking a shower to wash off the sticky film I had going on from sweating so profusely earlier but as tempting as it was, showering required effort I just wasn’t willing to put forth.
So after getting Oliver down for his nap this morning and making PlayDoh caterpillars and spaghetti dinners with Julia, I headed downstairs for a shower. With her engrossed in Franklin and Oliver out cold, I had time to take a real shower (as opposed to the jump in, shampoo, rinse, jump out routine I usually have time for).
A major downside to having glasses is the fact that you can’t wear them in the shower – I’ve tried, it doesn’t work. I’m useless without my specs – if I had a nickel for every time I’ve lathered my hair with body wash, I’d be a gazillionaire. I can’t shave my legs without leaving a big hairy patch behind,every time, because I can’t see what the fuck I’m doing. It’s good times, showering blind. Good times.
I was in the shower this morning with one leg propped up against the shower wall, white puffs of shaving cream everywhere, squinting at my calf shooting for an even shave when I felt something tickle its way across my foot.
At first, I thought it was just excess shaving foam falling from my leg but then I remembered that time when I cleaned the shower and found a giant, hairy black spider crouched in the corner, so I decided to check it out.
It wasn’t a fluffy pillow of shaving foam. There was something long and brown on my foot. Squinting, I bent down.
It was a giant centipede. GIANT. Like, the granddaddy of centipedes. I, of course, freaked the fuck right out. The thing was so big and so fat and had so many fucking legs it wouldn’t fit down the drain. It wouldn’t fit down the drain.
So much for my long, relaxing shower – I couldn’t get out of there fast enough. I mean, I’m all for sharing showers, but not with something that has more legs than I do.