Let’s see. Today, for me, started at midnight when I had a very late dinner of hot chicken wings, and then decided I would sleep in the hammock. I put out two blankets, one on top and one underneath, and my pillow. I also wore a long sleeved shirt, sweatpants, and socks just in case it got cold or there were midges aprowl.
I passed out quite quickly, as I normally do. This time it was without the help of a book or my ipad, as I didn’t want any settling dew to ruin either. I woke up all the way just once during the night, and looked up to see the Big Dipper overhead. I cuddled into my blankets happily and went right back to sleep.
About 5 am the sun was coming up, and it seemed that the dew point had finally been reached as I felt distinctly damp. I was also resting most of my arse and back on the ground. I guess the cotton of the hammock stretches more when damp, or it had finally given up on holding my substantial self off the ground. I brought my covers and pillow inside, and found hubby still asleep on the couch. I chased him off by talking utter nonsense, he told me later, and I didn’t wake up until 10am. Yikes: I’m normally up at 7, 7:30.
From the couch I can’t really see if the sun is out; can’t see if it will be a good day. I got up, had some water, drank the last of my iced tea, went outside for about 10 minutes and realised it was too hot, already – so I went back inside and watched a truly terrible episode of Stargate SG1. Just when I started to fall asleep I made myself get up and go back outside.
It was actually, truly, HOT today. By 5:30 it was 31.7 out – or 89 in American money (as hubby likes to say). I spent most of my day in shorts and a bikini top, and even then I had to move out of the sun quite often. I went to the shop once, for smokes, and took a shower (dammit, I’m peeling – I really did get some sunshine). After 3 I walked to the doctor and found out I get another week off work.
Hubby is doing a BBQ tonight – he goes a bit mad and tonight we have three kinds of sausages, chicken wings, pork chops, and maybe some corn (just for me). No, we don’t have company over. He just really likes to cook. He brought me a sampling of wings and a sausage a few minutes ago, as I sat out front getting the last rays. What a lovely thing to do. I feel terrible that I’m out front and he’s out back.
Oh, I should show you my tan. It’s especially funny compared to hubby’s Irish complexion:
Is that not bloody amazing? I love how he only has freckles up to where a short-sleeved shirt ends, and then he’s alabaster white above that line. Me? Even the paler underside of my arms, or my palms, aren’t as white as he is. He truly is the whitest man I know. Who loves hip-hop. Go figure.