June 26th, 2006

call before you knock

It’s been bloody hot here for oh, say, the past couple of weeks. We’ve had our good days and our bad, but in general, pretty damn hot.

I didn’t realize how hot it got in my apartment until today, when I worked from home, and found myself working up a nice shine.

So I finally got around to calling my landlord and leaving a message on their machine, asking if the Husband might come up one day this week and help me put my massive (we’re talking 10000 here) in the window).

Not five minutes after I leave the message, there’s a knock on my door.

Oh. my. god.

Did I mention it was hot? Do you know what normal people do when it’s hot and they’re at home and they live alone? (OK, Moo, Grampa, every guy who reads this.. minds outta the gutter thank you—sheesh.)

We tend to wear as little as humanly possible, so as to remain marginally decent, if say, a person across the street, two stories down, through the window, might catch a glimpse of a shadow moving about up here.

And like I said, I didn’t have air conditioning and it’s been hot. ::cough::

He knocked again.

I pulled open the door and said “oh, that was quick,” while simultaneously trying to become One with the door.

He said “Hi, getting hot up here yeah?” and bustled off to the living room, thankfully (dear sweet lord I HOPE) not looking at what I was wearing.

Um… very, very short soccer shorts my sister wore in eighth grade, that have a bit of an.. erm… sizeable hole in the frontal region and a tank top. And when it’s hot and you live alone, you don’t particularly find it necessary to wear anything under what you’re already wearing… yeah… erm.

IT’S HOT PEOPLE. Don’t spurn me. You do it too. 😛

So we moved the AC from it’s place in the spare room to the living room, and while he went out to the deck to make sure it lined up right, I bounded to my bedroom and put on more acceptable pants. Ones that had material everywhere that is necessary for one to not get arrested when walking down the street.

“OK, it’s all set,” he said. “You’re going to want to adjust that temperature. Wow, look at that, it’s 85 degrees in here. It is hot.”

The rugrats plunked themselves down in front of it and haven’t left there since. I now understand the hostile stares and cold silence I was treated too when I got home every day.

The landlord left quickly, not once commenting on the fact that I’d been wearing basically nothing to compensate for the temperature. I’m counting on him not really seeing much anyway, seeing as how it was semi-dark in here (almost, no lights on.. they generate heat), I hid behind the door and he was just way to bloody hot to care.

I hope.

I’m still blushing, sheesh.