Too Dry for Boob Sweat

It's hot!

Like Africa hot.

Let me preface that statement by saying that it is (for what it's worth) a dry heat. To my East Coast friends and family who are currently sweltering in 90 degree temps WITH 90 percent humidity, I apologize. If it makes you feel any better, I'll trade my heat rash for your boob sweat.

Today is supposed to reach 98, and tomorrow offers the promise of being 100...again. Beyond that, we are looking at a stretch of days festering in the upper-90s. When there is a breeze, it feels like the inside of a convection oven. Or hell. I can't remember the last time it rained. Last week? The week before? In any case, it only lasted a few minutes.

We need some moisture around here. It's beyond dry. My lawn is getting browner and crunchier by the day, and despite all my watering efforts, my flowers are dying. Our fireworks might be cancelled. And campfires are banned (for obvious reasons). I shouldn't complain when the mountains are on fire just 35 miles to the north--homes (and a life) have been lost. Our foothills (just to the west) are a mere cigarette toss or lightning strike from an inferno. The acrid smoke smell is a constant reminder of this summer's drought.

I would kill for rain. And, I can't believe I am saying this, even for a wee bit of humidity in the air. Seven percent simply isn't cutting it. My hair has lost its curl.

In the mean time, my dying lawn is sacrificing itself to host our new water slide monstrosity. It uses a ton of water, not to mention it makes me paranoid about the kids being electrocuted. But they love it, and since we are landlocked, it's the best we can do for some wet and wild fun.

This summer is unlike any of those I experienced as a child. It makes me a little sad for my kids. I had the ocean to splash around in, as well as a pool. I also never had to endure a desert-dry, hot, hot, summer like this one.

Umbrella drinks by the water slide, anyone? Nope. It just doesn't have the same appeal.