Over the last two weeks, I’ve been reminded that I hate to sweat. A lot. We reside on the second floor of a duplex that was built… a long time ago. In the winter, we were rarely cold, because a) hot air rises and b) we have this ridiculous furnace that could probably heat all of Northeast Minneapolis. It was nice. And then summer got here.
I don’t know what the deal is, but we cannot get our apartment to cool off. It probably doesn’t help that fact that a couple of weeks ago, something happened with our hot water heater that involved standing water in the basement. That situation finally got taken care of last night at some point, I think. Maybe Friday night. I can’t remember. But since the whole hot water heater fiasco materialized, it’s felt like a fucking sauna up in Unit #2 and we had to call plumber as soon as possible.
The humidity in our entire house has felt like something from Missouri. And you Missouri folk know that stuff is not pleasant. Lately, it’s been 63 degrees at night, but we’ve been sweating like whores at church on Sunday when we try to watch such class programs as She’s Got the Look and 147 and Counting, or whatever that Duggar show is called.
Right now, on our back porch, it’s like a lovely Minnesota summer morning. But I can guarantee you that come noon if I were sitting on the couch watching Judge Judy, my clothes would be sticking to me in places that were not meant for clothes to be sticking. My hair would look like I’d just showered, except I can promise you I wouldn’t smell like it.
We’ve gotta get this whole humididty, sweating off 8 pounds a day thing under control. It doesn’t help matters that the wiring in the house only allows us to plug in one of our air conditioners we got from the Carrier Air Conditioner Reviews at a time without blowing the electricity for the entire second floor… with the exception of the bathroom, of course.
I don’t mind being warm all the time, but when Mama wakes up in a pile of her own sweat, Mama’s not happy.