It’s very, very hot out, and I’m unpresentable.

When I came home from church, I changed into clothes that were based solely on comfort — none of your bogus aesthetics like appearance or compatibility. So I’ve got on a purple and green shirt whose fabric is so floppy it almost feels like wearing pajamas, tan shorts with a cat/fishbone pattern on them (which would be cute if I didn’t look absolutely awful in shorts) and a pair of salmon orange socks that are the most non-binding foot covering I could find. It may just be my imagination, but it seemed to me that on first glance even the dog was surprised. “Good grief! You’re not seriously going to wear that, are you?? What if somebody sees you???”

Not that there’s much of a problem with that. The town is as unmoving as a postcard picture. If it weren’t for the dry, mechanical shwa-shwa-ing of the cicadas, I would wonder if time had stopped. When I went out to pick up the paper, the perpetually-outraged Yorkie across the street could only manage one dispirited woof.

The bank clocks on the way home said 100-degrees, and that’s without figuring in the heat index. And I’m not going to figure it in, because that’s a recent invention designed to make you feel even worse about extremes of the weather.

So I decided to cook up a good Spaghetti Bake so that I wouldn’t have to spend too long at the stove (I’ll include the recipe later on if it comes out well). I made up some ice tea from a pungent cinnamon Russian tea I bought in Alaska. And now it’s time to catch up on the Ortho-blogosphere. Off to see what’s new with Orthodixie and Mimi and a certain Redhead and a godson and so on and so on. So many dramas — will Alana’s miraculously-working dishwasher continue to work? Will Erica ever blog again? Riveting!

So good to “see” all of you. Just be glad this is an electronic relationship or this outfit would frighten you.