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Like all true green-blooded PNWesterner’s I would like to stand up and shake my tiny fist in rage at the weather gods for that bullshit last week. Now, there are those out there that mayhap have heard about our plight. And I am certain there are those that are shaking their heads in disgust.

“One hundred and three degrees? That’s child’s play! Try one hundred twenty you pansy-assed freaks!”

And to those people I would like to calmly suggest that they shove it up their air-conditioned….

Well, you get my point.

No?

Here it is in a nutshell:

We here, in the greater Seattle area (and surrounding environs) do not have air-conditioning. There is no need for air conditioning. We scoff at the very idea of paying three hundred dollars to make your house COLDER than the outside. Our air is perfectly conditioned the way it is, thank you very much, so you can keep your filthy A/C units

And while you’re at it – take those umbrellas too.

We are not made of sugar.

We will not melt.

Bah!

And so life has gone on for many years. Until one day Harry Wappler (or whichever version of the Wappler family is giving us our daily dose of “cloudy with chance of showers”) Says to us:

Dear Seattle,

You may want to buy a fan. I’m just sayin’….

Love,

Harry.

To which we, of course, said:

“Blow it out your ear Harry! We know you’re lying!”

But when Monday rolled in with a cloudless sky everyone sat up and took a bit of notice.

“Hmmm” We thought…”It might just get to eighty today”

And then it hit eighty-six.

Tuesday, when we walked outside to our cars ready to fight off another day of evil sunshine, only to realize that it was already seventy-five degrees, there was a collect moan of anguish.

On Wednesday all hell broke loose.

Oh no, I’m not talking about the kind of hell that broke loose during SNOPACALYPSE 2006.

Not even RETURN OF SNOWPACALYPSE 2008: THIS TIME IT’S PERSONAL.

Those were special kinds of hell that we were then able to blame on our local government for not being prepared should Seattle actually get some sort of winter precipitation that isn’t rain.

No, I’m talking about the languid, insidious hell that orders you to go to work, because work may have air conditioning, and makes you dread going home because your house does not.

I’m talking about the evil shifty-eyed demon that makes you doubt who you are and where you stand in this world because, for the first time (second, if you are a long standing PNW denizen) you actually say to yourself

“Damn, some air-conditioning would be nice right about now.”

Wednesday saw a high of one hundred six degrees (Fahrenheit) – or at least that is what my car told me.

(For those of you that work in centigrade that is a little over 41 degrees (For all of the astrophysicists out there that is 314 degrees Kelvin.))

I actually thought the tires were going to melt off of my car.

How in the name of Merlin’s beard did we survive it? Well, I’m glad you asked.

We spent a LOT of time outside in the shade.

We had to. There was just the slightest hint of breeze outside and inside, well…Since we have no A/C (as previously railed against) it was 98 degrees (37 C, 307K) in the house. All the usual rules of conduct and decorum broke down into savagery and mayhem. The boy ran around nearly naked because (and this is a direct quote)

“PLEASE MOM! I want to be as naked as the baby!”

Note: the baby was wearing only a diaper due to the fact that she had turned all red and blotchy from over-heating.

We still had to have undy-wares on when eating dinner though because no matter HOW hot it is, I will not allow rule #9 to be broken. It is simply too difficult to re-instill.

Once stripped down, I gave the kids each a great big bowl of cold water and a bunch of toys.

The baby had never played with water before and contented herself with dipping her plastic fishy in and out and trying to drink as much of the sand soup as possible before I snatched the bowl away to refill it with clean water. She was immediately soaking wet, quite dirty and shrieking with delight.

To the boy I gave a blunt 60 cc syringe and showed him how it could be used to squirt water up to thirty feet away. I then showed him how, if it was used to squirt his sister (a mere five feet away) it was going to be used to line the garbage with and he’d have to go back to dumping water on his feet for entertainment.

Even with the sister caveat, it was an immediate hit.

A backyard war ensued wherein he had to vanquish everything that could safely be doused repeatedly with water. And I (unbelievable as it seems) was able to sit peacefully dodging water attacks and read a book. After a while the “War Against Everything” settled into to

“Let’s fill all the Playmobil toys with water: 60 cc at a time”

Which was fine with me since the Playmobil toys he had chosen to fill with water were his container ship and all the containers contained therein, a shockingly seaworthy investment. I took little notice of what he was doing because he was right in front of me and (the is the important bit) he was doing it quietly.

When Brian finally arrived home he instructed us to keep ourselves to the back porch whilst he conjured up some dinner. A request with which we were only too happy to comply. When the dinner hour approached he asked us to clear the table of toys and set out the plates. This task that prove a bit too challenging for the boy as he is easily sidetracked. Too hot to argue, I simply sent him in to the kitchen for silverware whilst I tidied up his toys.

It was then that I found out what he had been playing at so quietly as I sat by and read.