If my weather dashboard widget is to be believed, it is 33 degrees Celsius today.

Hello, summer! I’m sitting in my living room with the fan on its highest with no more than a flimsy tank top and teeny shorts on, but I’m still sweating buckets. Methinks I’m going to have to take yet another shower – my third for the day – because at 33 degrees inside a brick house, I’m starting to feel (and possibly, smell) like a pizza.

Going outdoors at this hour is definitely not an option, not with a sun as merciless as this. Believe me, I tried yesterday. I walked approximately 10 yards in this heat and almost keeled over in exhaustion.

And dear summer, do you even realize the pressure you put on me with your promise of sun-kissed beaches? How do you expect me to shape up for those bikinis when you’re making elliptical machines seem like the work of the devil and all you’re making me want to do is drink Coke all day?

Oh, summer, I should hate you for this torture. But how can I when I only have to look out the window to see gorgeous blue skies and fluffy white clouds? If anything, you just make me happier. So happy, in fact, that I just want sing – sing like the sunbirds on The Husband’s papaya tree.

That, and write silly little notes such as this.