I often complain of the heat. Today, though, I think I’m allowed. God, don’t know how the tennis players can put up with it (I guess that’s why they get big bucks).
Nonetheless, it’s a great opportunity to do the washing. And I have oodles of it today. Keira wet through her sheets last night; ours have been on our bed so long I can trace out stains with my finger; and our bedspread has tiny, little footprints all over it.
So hopefully, if I don’t burn my feet on the decking timber because, yes, it’s THAT hot, I can fry some brightness and crispness back into my linen. It’s positively screaming to me, all 500+ thread count of it, “You bought me; now you’re abusing me. Wench.”
