It's been hot. Damn hot. I'm not sure where the weather-type people take their official readings at, but obviously it's not anywhere near where we real people live. Maybe they're in the cooler at the nearest Maverick or Oasis. Obviously they are not in my truck with me, or they would know it has in fact reached 100 nearly everyday this week. Really. It has. My baby would not lie to me. Even Max, Mike's clearly devoted, diesel-sucking diva is honest enough to report 100+. Even though she's a chronic liar about his driving history. Her allegiance clearly runs to testosterone. (i.e. - she's not about to rat him out for violations of any sort.)
So, in fine family tradition, I received one of Mike's "for you...but secretly for me" gifts last Monday. He splurged and picked up a window AC unit for upstairs. Not that we don't enjoy bathing in the 90+ sauna that is our upstairs getaway. But really, sweat is not sexy on every level. It's actually been bearable up there, though that poor little machine chugs non-stop in an attempt to keep the heat at bay. At least it cools enough at night to shut it off and open windows. There is a decided sigh of coolant relief when I hit that off button.
Obviously, today is the holiday. The calendar says it is so. That means our little town has it's annual 4th of July parade as part of our Sagebrush Days celebration. I don't mind a good parade. I especially enjoy raiding the bag of candy the kid collects from passing floats. I just have one major parade-related gripe. How the hell can you call it a parade without including a marching band?? It's required! Read your official book of parade protocol. It's in there. I promise you. Without the marching band, it's almost not worth going.