hot, hot, hot

I know there are bigger problems in the world right now -- such as, what's going on in Wimbledon this fortnight? I hear Andre Agassi's retiring. Which is sad. There are few good American men out there. Not that it's super important. I think the retiring is more striking to me because he rose through the ranks and hit his stride while I was first loving tennis, and the Old Guard, as I knew it, is most definitely gone now. Except for perhaps Tim Henman. I see that he lost. When WILL that boy retire? Britain, just accept that Greg Rusedski is an honorary Brit, and get it over with. Oh, so he's considered old now, too? Well, FINE -- but all I can really think about is how freeking hot it is in our townhouse. Lizzy and I are sleeping on the Cot O' Springs in the basement for the third night. The repairman was to come between 2 and 5, then it became 5 and 7, then it became, um, whenever, then he called at 9:50 and said no-go today. Ugh.

I'm just grateful I have a/c to break! And that I'm no longer renting an apartment on the second, or third, or fifth floor with no basement to escape to. (at least then I didn't have to pay for repairs. Oh, wait. That wasn't a grateful comment. Oops.)

(note to Ross: Thank you for your fine suggestion, but the a/c didn't seem to do any better post-defrost and scrubdown. Rats!)

I'm having fun lying here in a puddle of sweat, listening to the pop-pop of early-bird fireworks. Praying that none land on my newly repaired roof. Ahhhh, home ownership.