I was walking to a friend’s place on Sunday to experience the most exciting thought of an hour of air conned tv watching, before we played our weekly game of volleyball. And it was hot. Really hot.
Kerileng* just told me it was 48 degrees out. Normally, if I am walking somewhere I try not to do it at the hottest part of the day, but alas, by half past three I was well on my way. It was so hot that I burnt my feet on the tar road, hoping that my rubber flip flops would make it. Ten minutes in and I found myself seeking shade under a tree, gulping water.
After a very sweaty game of volleyball (I would pretend that as a woman I only glowed, but it seems that every Sunday I am in for a healthy detox) it was time for the Superbowl!
Okay, okay, you might be shocked, but as it turns out I really like American football. And even crazier? That I would stay up ALL NIGHT to watch the live game! Seriously, by 5am the Saints had won, and I was celebrating** – though slightly anticlimactically because, well, it’s hard to bring yourself out of a sleep deprived junk food induced catatonic state.
And the next day as I came into work, slightly tardy, I was coached by everyone riding the combi as I failed miserably opening the sliding door. It’s probably a good thing I don’t operate heavy machinery as a career.
*I quoted her like she is a meteorologist. She’s not. But it was hot. I just checked the forecast for today (this time from the internet) and it shows 29 degrees and the phrase “pleasantly warm”.
**And though I started cheering for the Colts (due to very shallow reasons that I’d hate to get into) I switched loyalties immediately after the amazing interception from the Saints. So, yay! My team won!