Not Melting, But Getting Soft Around the Edges

About to leave on our outing. Once again, it's a bright, lovely day. It's not as hot yet as it's expected to be, but I expect it to be stifling by five or so. I'd kill for central air in this tin can, but the last price quoted some years back was ten thousand, so stolidly-chugging wall units it is. They're better than the ceiling fans, bless their intrepid hearts. My grandfather lived in Florida with nothing but ceiling fans until he was eighty-one, and I have no idea how he did it. It's bad enough in the low eighties of mountain country, let alone the nineties and hundreds and sweltering humidity of Florida. As it is, we might have to press our cheap-ass standing fan into service.

But remember, global warning is a myth cooked up by paranoid libtards who want to crush innovation, progress, and the innocent small businessman.