This weekend dished up the hottest days of the summer so far here in upstate NY. The temperature was in the high 80s Saturday, and soared to 95 degrees here yesterday, with near 100% humidity. And my house? Has no air conditioning.
Oh, we have a window unit in the bedroom. But because our house has only long vertical windows on the first floor (it was built in 1925), a window air conditioner won't fit in any window on the main part of the house. So sleeping provides 7 hours or so of bliss. The other 17 or so represent pure hell. Literally.
We do, however, have a small inground pool in our backyard, a rarity in my neighborhood of older houses with tiny yards. So, Rich and I practically lived in it the entire weekend, emerging only to make a trip to Babies R Us to buy more Beastie gear, and to go to my aunt's for our regular Sunday dinner.
Oddly enough, with some baby oil and a shoe horn, I can still squeeze myself into my regular bathing suit. Granted, my resemblance to this cannot be denied, but at least I didn't have to spend money on a maternity bathing suit, thereby leaving more money for Doritos. Score!
Once in the pool, I floated around for awhile, and since my energy levels to take my daily walk have been non-existent lately, I decided to swim some laps. This little endeavor lasted approximatly 5 seconds, because after that time, I literally felt as if I were being sucked down to the bottom of the pool, stomach first. Beastie weighs only 4.75 pounds at this point, but dear
g-o-d, you would have thought it was 50 pounds instead. So all that talk about feeling weightless in the pool? Is bullshit.
The weekend wasn't a total wash, however. I may not have been able to get my exercise by swimming laps, but I was able to exercise my somewhat cruel (although I'll let you be the judge) sense of humor with a photographic coup I've been waiting for since this post . This is my next door neighbor. We'll call him Mr. M.
Mr. M is approximately 107 years old, by my best estimate. He looks like the CryptKeeper from those Tales From the Crypt movies. And all day long in the spring and summer, no matter what the temperature, he lays on his lawn with a brown cardboard box by his side, and appears to weed his garden. "Now, that's not that strange, Kristi," you might be thinking. And you're right, it isn't. Except for one thing.
Nothing ends up in the box when he's finished.
I don't know if he ingests the weeds as fuel to keep his marathon weeding sessions going, or if he buries them under his creaky, skeletal body or what. But those weeds never make it into the box.
And equally strange is his wife, Mrs. M, although she flies her freak flag in a slightly different, and 100% more disturbing way. Mrs. M is only slightly younger and less rickety than Mr. M. She sits outside for hours on end, under her tree, in what the geriatric set might call "housedresses." But Mrs. M didn't go to the Emily Post school of etiquette. Oh no, not her. Mrs. M instead models her sitting position after Mr. M. Which often results in an eyeball-searing visual for Rich and I. I'll leave you with this: there is lots of thigh. There are some extensive vericose veins. And there is, occasionally, a glimpse of white granny panties. I think you can see where I'm going with this.
Mrs. M is also fond of lingerie that is, shall we say, "freshened" by the summer air. I warn you, before you scroll down, if you have a heart condition, are recovering from the flu, or have a weak constitution, you may want to point your browser elsewhere. Immediately. Otherwise, soldier on at your own risk.
Behold, the granny undergear. Three bras and one item of questionable function flying in the hot summer air. I was a little disappointed that the super-sexy, industrial strength granny panties didn't make an appearance on the clothesline yesterday, as usually they're matched up nicely with the bras. Ah well, there's always tomorrow.
Oh, we have a window unit in the bedroom. But because our house has only long vertical windows on the first floor (it was built in 1925), a window air conditioner won't fit in any window on the main part of the house. So sleeping provides 7 hours or so of bliss. The other 17 or so represent pure hell. Literally.
We do, however, have a small inground pool in our backyard, a rarity in my neighborhood of older houses with tiny yards. So, Rich and I practically lived in it the entire weekend, emerging only to make a trip to Babies R Us to buy more Beastie gear, and to go to my aunt's for our regular Sunday dinner.
Oddly enough, with some baby oil and a shoe horn, I can still squeeze myself into my regular bathing suit. Granted, my resemblance to this cannot be denied, but at least I didn't have to spend money on a maternity bathing suit, thereby leaving more money for Doritos. Score!
Once in the pool, I floated around for awhile, and since my energy levels to take my daily walk have been non-existent lately, I decided to swim some laps. This little endeavor lasted approximatly 5 seconds, because after that time, I literally felt as if I were being sucked down to the bottom of the pool, stomach first. Beastie weighs only 4.75 pounds at this point, but dear
g-o-d, you would have thought it was 50 pounds instead. So all that talk about feeling weightless in the pool? Is bullshit.
The weekend wasn't a total wash, however. I may not have been able to get my exercise by swimming laps, but I was able to exercise my somewhat cruel (although I'll let you be the judge) sense of humor with a photographic coup I've been waiting for since this post . This is my next door neighbor. We'll call him Mr. M.
Mr. M is approximately 107 years old, by my best estimate. He looks like the CryptKeeper from those Tales From the Crypt movies. And all day long in the spring and summer, no matter what the temperature, he lays on his lawn with a brown cardboard box by his side, and appears to weed his garden. "Now, that's not that strange, Kristi," you might be thinking. And you're right, it isn't. Except for one thing.Nothing ends up in the box when he's finished.
I don't know if he ingests the weeds as fuel to keep his marathon weeding sessions going, or if he buries them under his creaky, skeletal body or what. But those weeds never make it into the box.
And equally strange is his wife, Mrs. M, although she flies her freak flag in a slightly different, and 100% more disturbing way. Mrs. M is only slightly younger and less rickety than Mr. M. She sits outside for hours on end, under her tree, in what the geriatric set might call "housedresses." But Mrs. M didn't go to the Emily Post school of etiquette. Oh no, not her. Mrs. M instead models her sitting position after Mr. M. Which often results in an eyeball-searing visual for Rich and I. I'll leave you with this: there is lots of thigh. There are some extensive vericose veins. And there is, occasionally, a glimpse of white granny panties. I think you can see where I'm going with this.
Mrs. M is also fond of lingerie that is, shall we say, "freshened" by the summer air. I warn you, before you scroll down, if you have a heart condition, are recovering from the flu, or have a weak constitution, you may want to point your browser elsewhere. Immediately. Otherwise, soldier on at your own risk.
Behold, the granny undergear. Three bras and one item of questionable function flying in the hot summer air. I was a little disappointed that the super-sexy, industrial strength granny panties didn't make an appearance on the clothesline yesterday, as usually they're matched up nicely with the bras. Ah well, there's always tomorrow.
I think it was unbearably hot everywhere this weekend. We hit 100 here...in Minnesota, the state where most people think it's 10 below 365 days of the year. Ugg.
Glad you had the pool at least. I can't imagine how you would have survived it without a pool or c/a.
LMAO!!!(and my granny-panties, too!)
Yes, there is a definite heatwave happening here in T.O. as well. Thankfully, we do have AC.
LOL!
I have to see that empty box for myself. Not that I don't believe you, but I want to get to the bottom of the mystery!!
We spent a lot of time inside in our A/C this weekend. Though we're stingy about when we'll turn it on... we try to tough it out til late afternoon. Because? We're cheap.
Ugh.
About the pool -- thank God for water for the pregnant woman! Your center of gravity is off! Great that you can still wear your regular bathing suit. And I know some great exercises you can do with your pool noodle!!
Oh thank goodness you have a pool. When I was younger and lived in an older NJ neighborhood, we only had air conditioners in our bedrooms as well. And the blessed, blessed pool.
Although, for when you're tired of being pruney...I hope you have a TV in the bedroom. And then voila! instant living/livable space.
The thought of Mrs. M flashing her hoo hoo at you and Rich a la Sharon Stone is cracking my ass up. My gawd, those are some industrial strength brassieres. Perhaps the M in Mr. M is for "magician" and that's his magic weed box?
Oh you are too much!! I was so cracking up as I read about your neighbors.
Hey, we are burning up here!! The temps. are as high as 106 and it will stay that way all week. But, the good news is that the heat makes my arthritis pain go away! Whoo Hoo!
Geekwif-Wow! 100 degrees in MN? I have to admit, I always thought it was cooler in MN until my friend moved there and told me differently!
Ramona-It's awful!
Marie-Maybe he'll be out and proud on Wednesday when you come over. You could see him in action!
Christine-Oh believe me, I am LIVING in my bedroom. I even ate dinner in there yesterday. LOL
Leslie-LOL. Now that's a comparison I never thought to make!
Sher-Wow. 106? At least one of us is benefitting from the heat!
Ok, now I really want to know what Mr. M is doing over there all day! Maybe the couple is just going cuckoo together!!
I feel you when you talk about the heat. I was pregnant during summer in Scottsdale, AZ. We're talking 110 degrees (or hotter) every day. As if I weren't hot enough with all that extra blood flowing through my veins!
Dawn-I can't imagine being pregnant in that kind of heat! Now I feel bad about complaining about 95 degree temps. ;)
Ah, the putterer & wife. Good times in Brighton.
I missed this one the first time, so I am glad to read it now. That underwear made me laugh, but not so much as the line as a piece of questionable function..LOL