Hot As Balls

It is hotter than Satan's balls in my house. I used to enjoy a good sweat at the gym or when the seasons change because it reminded me winter was gone. Not today my friends, not today.... How you feelin'?......HOT HOT HOT!!!!!!!!!! (Thanks, Buster Poindexter, for that hideous song that is pumping through my head now...)

I woke in the middle of the night all dry-mouthed and sweaty at about 3am yesterday. My ceiling fan was on. I was already sleeping with no covers and not family-appropriate pajamas. Why in the hell was I SO DAMN HOT?? I am only 42. I am not ready to go through "the change". I know I'm carrying a bit of extra "winter fluff/slight depression/divorce flab/I sometimes eat my feelings away" pounds so I chalked it up to that. But after only 2 sips of my morning coffee I felt like I was in a South American rain forest. I thought about wrapping my head in a wet towel turban but then the neighbors might think my marriage is on the mend so I scratched that idea.

"Girls, does it feel really, fricking HOT in here or is it just me?" I asked as my upper lip glistened with a pre-pubescent sweat stache.
"No, I'm fine maybe it's just you, Mom."
They are skinny kids with little body fat, they don't drink coffee, and they are barely coherent before school so maybe they just didn't notice. Maybe I have some crazy ass malaria that's giving me a fever and my brain is frying in my skull!!!!!!!!....

All damn day I had under boob sweat in growing crescent shapes like a leaky breast feeder. Popsicles, ice water, cold showers, NOTHING helped. I sought refuge in my car and probably looked kind of insane as I shoved my face into the vents like a dog hanging out the window. I almost went to the store to get an ice cold 2-liter of Sprite to straddle like a soda donkey. After school my kids finally validated my thoughts.

"Mom, why is it hot as BALLS in here?? Why don't you turn on the air conditioning for God's sake?!"
"It's SATAN'S BALLS hot and it IS on. I think it's broken." I tell them.
Yup, my AC was pumping out hot air like a meeting with my ex and the two divorce attorneys. I set my air at 75 degrees but the temp in my house was 86. Aww, HELL NO!!!!!!

I got advice from anyone who would give it.
"Have you checked the freon level?" Who the fuck do I look like with these nails? It's not Bob Villa so, no, I have not checked the freon level.
"Have you checked the circuit breaker?" After karate chopping my way through Tarantula Web Alley in my back room (accompanied by some total bitch ass screaming) I find it's not a circuit or fuse or whatever the hell that box full of switches is.
"Is your unit on?" Well Jesus H. Christ, let me traipse around the side of my house and wiggle my fat ass through my overgrown landscaping to check. Nope, no noise. No bueno.

Mike, the repair guy stayed with me on the phone as I went all over my house on this little AC scavenger hunt. He was out of breath and sounded like he might have been about to have a heart attack because this time of year he gets a little busy. Or he just sits in his truck with his pants down creeping on overheated women for awhile before he can "get to them". I'd say this explains why Mr. HVAC Peeping Tom is so winded.
"Well I can try to fit you in tomorrow but it will be sometime between 8am and 8pm and we can't give you any idea when your time will be."
Awesome, in 12 hours there is not some hierarchy of who called first or who sounds the hottest via phone or perhaps who can Snapchat a pic of their boobs (with the titty sweat Photoshopped out of course..) the fastest?
"Oh....okay. I'll wait for your call then."
So that's how my night went.
As the thunderstorms set in, I had to shut every single one of my windows and close off any chance of my Indian Sweat Lodge cooling off. I'm not sure if it was a tear or a trickle of sweat down my cheek but I decided it was time.
Time to ride the ice cold soda donkey and hope that I'm wearing pants when HVAC McPervy Mike shows up. Going to check into the malaria remedy real quick in case I black out. If someone finds me  dead, covered in sweat like a freshly glazed Krispy Kreme, make sure to let my kids know mom told them to always Photoshop the boob sweat out before you Snapchat....