During the week, Husband Mike has a day job in which talks to a lot of very ill people, with ailments you have never heard of and probably don’t want to know about. But he comes home and tells me about them because otherwise he’d lose his mind from sadness and fear. There are so many ways to get sick, you guys, and so many of them will just blindside you. We talk about them, and we mourn, and we say how grateful we are not to be ill ourselves.
It’s Monday morning. You roll out of bed, deeply grumpy, and slog through your morning ablutions in a haze. The outfit you assemble appears acceptable in your bedroom mirror, so you pack your lunch, lock the door, and make your way to the office. By 10:15 a.m., you’ve had a cup of coffee or two and are finally starting to perk up. You head to the restroom, glance at your reflection for the first time since you left the house, and BLEEEEAAARRRRGH! Who is that mismatched, dumpy-frumpy, stylistically impaired chick? Look at that ill-fitting blouse, those scandalously snug pants, that bizarre-ass necklace! How the HELL did this outfit pass muster?
Yes, you read that right. WARM in the SUMMER. I am sitting at my desk right now, eating my lunch and freezing my gazongas off. And it’s 85 degrees in the greater Twin Cities area right now, headed for 94 later this afternoon.
Office workers are all too aware that summer means air conditioning cranked up to levels capable of crystallizing our snot. Although the sun may graciously warm those lucky enough to sit near windows, most of us cube farmers spend our days shivering as we type.